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THE OLD CATAMONT TAVERN, BENNINGT^. 
Trom Harper's Masazine. Copyright, 1S77, by HS^Iij;^ & Brothers. 




BALLADS AND POEMS 



RELATING TO THE 



BURGOYNE CAMPAIGN 



ANNOTATED BY 



«-'i-A 



WILLIAM L: stone, 



AUTHOR OF THE " LIFE AND TIMES OF SIR WILLIAM JOHNSON, BART. ;" " BUR- 

goyne's campaign and ST. leger's expedition;" "memoirs OF 

GENERAL AND MADAME RIEDESEL ;" "HISTORY OF NEW YORK 
city;" "life and writings of colonel WILLIAM L. 

stone;" " reminiscences of Saratoga and balls- 
ton ;" "the stone genealogy;" "the 
starin genealogy," etc., etc., etc. 



" ' Land of Song !' " said the warrior bard, 
"Though all the world betray thee, 
One sword at least thy rights shall guard, 
One faithful harp shall praise thee !" 

MooRE. 



ALBANY, N. Y. 

JOEL MUNSELL'S SONS 

1893 




"c^'^ 



Mo, 20. 



TO 

(Bencral 3» Matta ^e |pe^6ter, 

OF DUTCHESS CO., S. N. Y., 

WHOSE WRITINGS, BOTH ON REVOLUTIONARY AND EUROPEAN HIS_ 
TORIES AND OUR LATE CIVIL WAR, ENTITLE HIM TO THE FIRST RANK 
AS A MILITARY CRITIC, AND WHOSE PATRIOTISM AND EFFORTS IN 
EVERYTHING WHICH TENDS TO THE ADVANCEMENT OF THE PUBLIC 
WEAL DEMAND THE GRATITUDE OF EVERY TRUE CITIZEN OF THE 
UNITED STATES, 

THIS WORK 

IS DEDICATED BY HIS FRIEND 

®l)c :3lutl)or. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Ballads Relating Especially to General Burgoyne i 

Ballads on the Death of General Fraser iii 

Ballads on the Death of Jane McCrea 128 

Poems on the Battle of Oriskany 208 

Poems on the Battle of Bennington 215 

Poems on the Battles of Bemus Heights and Saratoga 234 



APPENDICES. 



CHAPTER PAGE 

I. The Forces under Burgoyne and Gates 275 

II. Sketch of General Gates 279 

III. Burgoyne's Proclamation 285 

IV. Sketch of " Tim" Murphy, the Sharpshooter 290 

V. Sketch of Lady Harriet Acland 303 

VI. Sketch of Jones, the Lover of Jane McCrea 319 

' VII. Sketch of General J. Watts de Peyster 328 

VIII. Sketch of "Parson" Allen, the Hero of Bennington 335 

IX. History of the "Old Catamount Tavern" at Benning- 
ton 337 

X. Spelling of the Name of Bemus 342 

XL Sketch of Dr. A. W. Holden 349 



PREFACE 



In giving to the public, and especially to those who 
have my " Burgoyne's Campaign and St. Leger's Ex- 
pedition," a few words are, perhaps, necessary to 
explain the purpose of the present work. 

During my researches while engaged upon that par- 
ticular episode of our Revolutionary history, I came 
across a number of quaint ballads relating to that 
campaign par excellence'^' and it occurred to me that 
my subscribers to " Burgoyne's Campaign" would 
gladly welcome an addenda^ so to speak, of that work. 

Hoping, therefore, that those of my friends who 
have so kindly aided me in my former publications 
will appreciate the spirit in which this volume has been 
prepared, I have published it, though at a pecuniary 
sacrifice to myself. 

My thanks are due for help in this compilation to Gen- 

* I use this phrase advisedly, since all historical 
students know that Frank Moore has given us a little 
volume on " Revolutionary Poems." This collection, 
however, though admirable, does not include, save in 
a very few instances, those which particularly relate to 
the campaign of Burgoyne. 



12 Preface. 

eral John Meredith Read, Consul-General to France at 
Paris during the Franco-German War, the siege of 
that city and the Commune, and for many years 
United States Minister to Greece ; Mr. James A. 
Holden, of Glens Falls, N. Y. ; Mr. Charles M. Bliss, 
of Bennington, Vt. ; Mrs. Charles Stone, of Sandy 
Hill, N. Y. ; Mr. Franklin Burdge, of New York 
City ; Mr. Tared C. Markham, the architect of the 
Saratoga Monument, of Jersey City, N. J.; Mr. Theo- 
dore F. Dwight, of the Boston Public Library ; Mr. 
William T. Peoples, of the New York Mercantile 
Library ; Mr. George Watson Cole, of the Jersey City 
Free Library ; Mr. Frederick Saunders, of the Astor 
Library ; Dr. Smith Ely, of Newburgh, N. Y. ; Mr. 
John W. Jordan, of Philadelphia, Pa. ; Mr. Bauman 
L. Belden, of Elizabeth, N. J. ; Hon. Charles S. Les- 
ter and Hon. Winsor B. French, of Saratoga Springs, 
N. Y., and Mr. August Hund, of Hoboken, N. J.— to 
all of whom I here return my hearty thanks.* 

* Mrs. Julia C. Dorr, of Rutland, Vt, the deservedly 
celebrated poetess, contributed to the Bennington 
Centennial an exquisitely beautiful poem entitled 
" Vermont." As, however, it contains only one or two 
incidental allusions to the battle of Bennington, and 
does not, therefore, come within the scope of this work, 
it is not given in this collection. 

William L. Stone. 
Mt. Vernon, N. Y., October i, 1893. 



THE BURGOYNE BALLADS. 



SKETCH OF GENERAL BURGOYNE. 

It seems eminently proper for a just appreciation of 
the circumstances under which the following ballads 
were written, that the reader should have a sketch of 
the personage who called them forth. 

John Burgoyne, a British soldier, was born on 
February 24th, 1723. He was the eldest son of John 
Burgoyne and Anna Maria, daughter of Charles 
Burneston of Hackney, in Middlesex. The popular 
belief that he was a natural son of Lord Bingley is 
pure fiction, and had its rise in the malicious gossip of 
that prince of gossips — Horace Walpole. Burgoyne 
was educated at Westminster, and entered the army at 
an early age. While at Preston with his regiment he 
eloped with Lady Charlotte Stanley, daughter of the 
eleventh Earl of Derby ; and the earl, becoming rec- 
onciled to the marriage, obtained for him a captaincy 
in the Eleventh Dragoons, June 14th, 1756. He was 
in the attack on Cherbourg in 1758, and also in the 
abortive attempt on St. Malo the same year ; was ap- 
pointed, May loth, 1758, captain-lieutenant in the 
Coldstream Guards, and the following year was pro- 
moted to the command of the Sixteenth Dragoons, 
called subsequently " Burgoyne's Light-horse." He 
was elected to Parliament in 1762, held his seat in that 



2 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

body continuously until his death, and took an active 
part in matters relating to India, hence incurring the 
displeasure of "Junius," by whom he was severely 
criticised. He was made major-general, May 25th, 
1772. Appointed to a command in America, he arrived 
in Boston, May 25th, 1775, and witnessed the battle 
of Bunker Hill, of which he gave a graphic descrip- 
tion in a letter to his brother-in-law. Lord Stanley. He 
was commissioned, January ist, 1776, lieutenant-gen- 
eral in America only, and took part in the opera- 
tions of that year for expelling the Americans from 
Canada ; but in November, dissatisfied with his sub- 
ordinate position under Carleton, he returned to Eng- 
land. In December of that same year he concerted 
with the British ministry a plan for the campaign of 
1777. A large force under his command was to go to 
Albany by way of Lakes Champlain and George, while 
another body, under Sir Henry Clinton, advanced 
up the Hudson. Simultaneously, Colonel Barry St. 
Leger was to make a diversion, by way of Oswego, on 
the Mohawk River. 

In pursuance of this plan, Burgoyne, in June, began 
his advance with one of the best-equipped armies that 
had ever left the shores of England. Proceeding up 
Lake Champlain, he easily forced the evacuation of 
Crown Point, Ticonderoga and Fort Anne. But in- 
stead of availing himself of the water-carriage of Lake 
George, at the head of which there was a direct road 
to Fort Edward, he advanced upon that work by land, 
consuming three weeks in cutting a road through the 
woods and building bridges over swamps. This gave 
time for Schuyler to gather the yeomanry together, and 
for Washington to re-enforce that general with troops, 
under Morgan, from the Southern Department. Bur- 
goyne, also, lost valuable time and received a fatal 



The Burgoyne Ballads, 3 

check by his disastrous attack on Bennington. At 
length, finding his progress stopped by the entrench- 
ments of Gates at Bemus Heights, nine miles south 
of Saratoga (Schuylerville, N. Y.), he endeavored to 
extricate himself from his perilous position by fighting. 
Two battles were fought on nearly the same ground 
on September 19th and October 7th, 1777. The 
first was indecisive: the second resulted in so com- 
plete a rout for the British, that, leaving his sick and 
wounded to the compassion of Gates, Burgoyne re- 
treated to Saratoga. Here, finding that his provi- 
sions were giving out. Stark in his rear, and that there 
was no chance of escape, he capitulated with his en- 
tire army, October 17th, 1777, This event was the 
turning-point in the American Revolution. It se- 
cured the French alliance, and Hfted the clouds of moral 
and financial gloom that had settled upon the leaders, 
even the hopeful Washington. 

Burgoyne, until his unfortunate campaign, stood 
very high in his profession. He had made a most 
brilliant record on the banks of the Tagus for dash 
under that master in the art of war, the famous Count 
Schaumberg-Lippe. He also added to a prepossessing 
exterior the polished manners and keen sagacity of a 
courtier. He was likewise witty and brave, but he 
was also hasty and self-willed. Desirous of doino- 
everything himself, he rarely consulted with others^; 
yet he never knew how to keep a plan secret. While 
in d. subordinate position he was continually carping 
at his military superiors ; yet when given a separate 
command, he was guilty of the same faults that he 
had reprehended in others. His boastful ways — as 
will be seen in some of the following ballads — drew 
upon him the nicknames of "Sir Jack Brag" and 
"Chrononnotonthologos," a character in a burlesque 



4: The Burgoyne Ballads. 

play by Henry Carey. Being a sybarite, he often 
neglected the duties of a general ; and while he was 
enjoying his wines and choice food, his army suffered 
the keenest want. Early in 1778 he returned to Eng- 
land, and justly threw the failure of the expedition 
upon the Ministry, since, in arranging the campaign, 
he had most strenuously insisted that success depended 
upon Howe's co-operation. Had he been properly 
supported, he would, despite mistakes, have unques- 
tionably reached Albany, as Gates would not have 
been at Bemus Heights to oppose him. On his 
arrival in England he was received very coldly by the 
court and people, the king, indeed, refusing to see 
him.* Having in vain demanded a court-martial, he 
finally succeeded in obtaining a hearing on the floor 
of Parliament ; and in 1 780 he published a narrative 
of the campaign and a vindication of himself in a 
work entitled "A State of the Expedition." Joining 
the opposition, he resigned, in 1779, all his offices. 
Upon a change in the ministry, he regained somewhat 
of his popularity, and in 1782 was restored to his 
rank in the army, and appointed prize-councillor and 
commander-in-chief in Ireland. In 1784 he retired 
from public life, and, possessing considerable literary 
ability, amused himself in writing numerous comedies 
and poems, which were published in two volumes in 
1808. He had already, while in America, written two 
farces, entitled respectively " The Siege of Boston" and 
" The Maid of the Oaks," both of which were performed 
with great eclat. Two other dramas, both of which 

* Indeed, had the king granted him an audience, it 
would have been tantamount to acknowledging that 
he, George HI., had erred — and when was a king, 
especially this one, ever known to admit a mistake ! 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 5 

were equally successful, were " The Lord of the Manor" 
and " Richard Coeur de Lion." He was also the 
author of a comedy entitled "The Heiress," which had a 
great run, and has been pronounced by competent 
critics " one of the best productions of the modern 
British drama." 

The tale of " The Lord of the Manor" seems, in some 
degree, to have been disguised in the modification 
of the character and circumstances by the incident 
of his own matrimonial connection ; for, as above 
stated, his was a clandestine and unauthorized mar- 
riage, at a time when he held only a subaltern's com- 
mission in the army, and is said to have excited at 
first the resentment of the lady's father to such a 
degree that he declared his resolution never to admit 
the offenders into his presence. As we have seen, a 
reconciliation was effected, and was succeeded by a 
warm and lasting attachment. It is probable, also, 
that the memory of his wife, w^ho died in 1776, at 
Kensington Palace, during his absence in America, is 
embalmed by the affectionate regrets of Burgoyne in 
that beautiful air of his composition : 

" Encompassed in an angel's frame, 
An angel's virtues lay ; 
Too soon did heaven assert the claim, 
And call its own away. 

" My Anna's worth, my Anna's charms, 
Must never more return ! 
What now shall fill these widow'd arms, 
Ah me ! my Anna's urn !"* 

* One would suppose from this affectionate effusion 
that his devoted attachment to his wife — and of that 
fact there seems to be no doubt — would have pre- 



6 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

Burgoyne, also, was one of the managers of the 
trial for the impeachment of Lord Hastings, but he 
did not live to see the result of that famous trial, his 
death occurring in London, on August 4th, 1792, 
caused by gout in the stomach. There were, how- 
ever, not a few of his enemies who did not scruple to 
say that he was a suicide, one American Loyalist, 
who was in England at the time, and resided within a 
few doors of his (Burgoyne's) dwelling, writing home 
as follows : " He fell by his own hand, a prey to dis- 
appointment and neglect." There seems, however, to 
be no real foundation for this statement. 

By his wife, Burgoyne had but one daughter, who 
died in childhood ; but by Miss Susan Caulfield, after 
his wife's death, he had four children, of whom the 

vented the licentious conduct of Burgoyne during his 
American campaign (see the account of his revelling 
in the arms of his mistress during the sufferings of his 
army, just before his surrender, as given by Mrs. Gen- 
eral von Riedesel, " Letters of Madame von Riedesel," 
Munsell & Son, Albany, N. Y.) ; but these inconsis- 
tencies are hard to account for. Indeed, public men 
of that time seem to have thought that the breaking 
of their marriage vows was but a venial offence. On 
this subject see Alexander Hamilton's account of his 
liazson^Nith a woman, given unblushingly to the public 
as a defence against the charge of his having, while 
Secretary of the Treasury, been careless in money 
affairs. This pamphlet, in which Hamilton gave this 
statement to the public, is now extremely rare, the 
only two copies of it in existence, as we are aware, 
being one in the library of the New York Historical 
Society, and the other in the possession of Mr. B. L. 
Belden, of Elizabeth, N. J. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 7 

late Sir John Burgoyne, of Crimean fame, was the 
eldest. His descendants have filled many honorable 
positions in the British army and navy, and several of 
them are still (1893) living. For an exhaustive 
sketch of Burgoyne and an analysis of his campaigns, 
See " Hadden's Journal," edited by that indefatigable 
and authoritative writer, General Horatio Rogers, of 
Providence, R. I.* 



BURGOYNE'S PROCLAMATION.f 

[A burlesque ballad by Governor William Livingston, of New Jersey. 
First published in the New York Jotu-nal, September 8th, 1777.] 

By John Burgoyne and Burgoyne John, sir, 
And grac'd with titles still more higher, 

* As there are a number of allusions in the follow- 
ing ballads to the forces of the two contending armies, 
and as scarcely any writer, either contemporary 
or otherwise, agrees in the number, it is thought 
entirely germane to the present work to give in 
Appendix No. I. a correct authorized statement both 
of the beleaguering army, under Gates, and of those 
who surrendered to it, under Burgoyne. 

f As a prelude to his operations, Burgoyne issued 
from Crown Point, on Lake Champlain, a pompous, 
grandiloquent, and haughty-minded proclamation, in 
which, after reciting a number of his own titles, eked 
out with a string of et cetcE7-as, to indicate the rest, he 
made a magnificent parade of the number and strength 
of his army, and displayed in formidable view the body 
of savages by which he announced he was going 
to accomplish great things ; at the same time com- 
manding the Americans to lay down their arms 



8 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

For I'm lieutenant-general too, 

Of Georgie's troops both red and blue, 

and return to their duty, and promising them mercy 
upon their speedy submission, but threatening them 
with the most terrible vengeance if they persisted 
in their rebellion. The effects of this proclama- 
tion, however, were entirely different from what its 
author surmised would be the case. Instead of the 
terror which he thought it would excite, it produced 
throughout the colonies only indignation and con- 
tempt. Governor Livingston, of New Jersey (and 
not Francis Hopkinson, as some have supposed), by 
turning it ingeniously into Hudibrastic verse, made 
the proclamation an object both of general derision and 
of diversion. John Holt, of New York City, an old 
and highly respectable editor, published it in his 
newspaper, the Gazette, in Poughkeepsie, heading it 
with " Pride Goeth before Destruction, and a Haughty 
Spirit before a Fall." " It is," says Dr. Dwight, in his 
"Travels," "remarkable that the four most haughty 
proclamations issued by military commanders in mod- 
ern times have prefaced their ruin — this of General 
Burgoyne, that of the Duke of Brunswick, when he 
was entering France, that of Bonaparte in Egypt, 
and that of General Le Clerc, on his arrival at St. 
Domingo." To this list might also be added that of 
General Lee of the Confederate Army in our late Civil 
War, just previous to his surrender. 

Governor William Livingston, the author of this 
poem and the Governor of New Jersey, was born in 
Albany, N. Y., November 30th, 1723, and died in 
Elizabethtown, N. J. (now Elizabeth), July 25th, 
1790. He was graduated at Yale in 1 741, at the head 
of his class, and then began the study of law under 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 9 

On 'this extensive continent, 
And of Queen Charlotte's regiment 
Of eight dragoons the colonel, 
And governor eke of Castle Will, 
And furtherrriore when I am there, 
In house of commons there appear, 
(Hoping ere long to be a peer) 
Being a member of that virtuous band 
Who always vote at North's command, 
Directing too the fleets and troops 
From Canada as thick as hops ; 
And all my titles to display, 
I'll end with thrice et cetera. 

The troops consign'd to my command. 
Like Hercules to purge the land, 
Intend to act in combination 
With th' other forces of the nation, 

James Alexander, completing his course under 
William Smith. He served with distinction in many 
civic and State offices, and in 1787 was a delegate to 
the convention that framed the United States Consti- 
tution. He was also one of the original trustees of the 
New York Society Library, and in 1751 was made 
one of the trustees of King's (now Columbia) College, 
but declined to qualify when he found that the Presi- 
dent must be a clergyman of the Church of England. 
He was the author of various works of distinction 
in their day. As President Dwight says, " His imag- 
ination was brilliant, his wit sprightly and pungent, his 
understanding^ powerful, his taste refined and his con- 
ceptions bold and masterly. His views of political 
subjects were expansive, clear and just. Of freedom, 
both civil and religious, he was a distinguished cham- 
pion." 



10 ' The Burgoyne Ballads. 

Displaying wide thro' every quarter 

What Britain's justice would be after. 

It is not difficult to show it, 

And every mother's son must know it, 

That what at first she meant to gain 

By requisitions and chicane, 

She's now determined to acquire 

By kingly reason ; sword and fire. 

I can appeal to all your senses. 

Your judgments, feelings, tastes and fancies ; 

Your ears and eyes have heard and seen, 

How causeless this revolt has been ; 

And what a dust your leaders kick up, 

In this rebellious civil hickup, 

And how upon this curs'd foundation, 

Was rear'd the system of vexation, 

Over a stubborn generation. 

But now inspired with patriot love 
I come th' oppression to remove ; 
To free you from the heavy clog 
Of every tyrant demagogue, 
Who for the most romantic story, 
Claps into limbo loyal Tory, 
All hurly burly, hot and hasty. 
Without a writ to hold him fast by ; 
Nor suffers any living creature 
(Led by the dictates of his nature), 
To fight in green for Britain's cause, 
Or aid us to restore her laws ; 
In short the vilest generation 
Which in vindictive indignation, 
Almighty vengeance ever hurl'd 
From this to the infernal world. 
A Tory cannot move his tongue, 
But whip, in prison he is flung, 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 11 

His goods and chattels made a prey 
By those vile mushrooms of a day, 
He's tortur'd too, and scratch'd and bit 
And plung'd into a dreary pit ; 
Where he must suffer sharper doom, 
Than ere was hatched by church of Rome. 

These things are done by rogues, who dare 
Profess to breathe in freedom's air. 
To petticoats alike and breeches 
Their cruel domination stretches, 
For the sole crime, or sole suspicion, 
(What worse is done by th' inquisition 7) 
Of still adhering to the crown. 
Their tyrants striving to kick down, 
Who by perverting law and reason, 
Allegiance construe into treason. 
Religion too is often made 
A stalking horse to drive the trade, 
And warring churches dare implore 
Protection from th' Almighty Pow'r ; 
They fast and pray, in Providence 
Profess to place their confidence ; 
And vainly think the Lord of all 
Regards our squabbles on this ball ; 
Which would appear as droll in Britain 
As any whims that one could hit on ; 
Men's consciences are set at naught 
Nor reason valued at a groat ; 
And they that will not swear and fight 
Must sell their all, and say good-night. 

By such important views they're pres't to, 
I issue this, my manifesto. 
I, the great knight of de la Mancha, 
Without Squire Carleton my sancho, 



12 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

Will tear you limb from limb asunder, 

With cannon, blunderbuss and thunder ; 

And spoil your feathering and your tarring ; 

And cagg you up for pickled herring 

In front of troops as spruce as beaux,* 

And ready to lay on their blows, 

I'll spread destruction far and near : 

And when I cannot kill I'll spare. 

Inviting by these presents all, 

Both young and old and great and small. 

And rich and poor and Whig and Tory, 

In cellar deep or lofty story ; 

Where'er my troops at my command 

Shall swarm like locusts o'er the land. 

(And they shall march from the North Pole, 

As far at least as Pensacole,) 

To break off their communications, 

That I can save their habitations ; 

For finding that Sir William's plundersf 

Prove in the event apparent blunders, 

* " Spruce as beaux," in allusion to the fact that 
during the entire march of the British troops under 
Burgoyne, the officers seemed to look upon the expe- 
dition as a kind of gala day, and, clothed in their best 
regimentals in most dandified fashion, they escorted the 
ladies of the party through the forest in the most 
gallant style. This march through the wilderness is 
graphically illustrated in one of the bronze tablets in 
the Saratoga Monument at Schuylerville, N. Y., 
built by Booth Brothers, of New York City, and by 
whom its corner-stone was presented to the Saratoga 
Monument Association. 

fSir William Howe is here alluded to. He was, as 
is well known, depended on both by the British min- 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 13 

It is my full determination 
To check all kinds of depredation ; 
But when I've got you in my pow'r, 
Favor'd is he I last devour. 

From him who loves a quiet life, 

And keeps at home to kiss his wife, 

And drink success to King Pygmalion, 

And calls all congresses rebscallion, 

With neutral stomach eats his supper, 

Nor deems the contest worth a copper, 

I will not defalcate a groat. 

Nor force his wife to cut his throat ; 

But with his doxy he may stay, 

And live to fight another day ; 

Drink all the cider he has made 

And have to boot a green cockade. 

But as I like a good Sir Loin, 

And mutton chop when e'er I dine, 

And my poor troops have long kept Lent, 

Not for religion but for want. 

Who e'er secretes cow, bull, or ox. 

Or shall presume to hide his flocks, 

Or with felonious hand eloign 

Pig, duck, or gosling from Burgoyne, 



istry and by Burgoyne to effect a diversion in the latter's 
favor by advancing up the Hudson, toward Albany, 
thus directing the forces under Gates. Why he did 
not do so is now plain — his special instructions to that 
effect having been by accident pigeoned-holed, and 
never having reached him. See Stone's " Burgoyne" 
and Rogers's " Hadden." 



14 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

Or dare to pull the bridges down, 

My boys to puzzle or to drown ; 

Or smuggle hay, or plough, or harrow, 

Cart, horses, wagons, or wheelbarrow ; 

Or 'thwart the path lay straw or switch, 

As folks are wont to stop a witch, 

I'll hang him as the Jews did Haman ; 

And smoke his carcass for a gammon. 

I'll pay in coin for what I eat, 

Or continental counterfeit ; 

But what's more likely still, I shall 

(So fare my troops) not pay at all. 

With the most Christian spirit fir'd. 

And by true soldiership inspir'd, 

I speak as men do in a passion 

To give my speech the more impression. 

If any should so harden'd be 

As to expect immunity, 

Because procul a fulmine, 

I will let loose the dogs of Hell, 

Ten thousand Indians, who shall yell. 

And foam, and tear, and grin, and roar, 

And drench their moccasins in gore ; 

To these I'll give full scope and play 

From Ticonderog to Florida ; 

They'll scalp your heads, and kick your shins, 

And rip your guts, and flay your skins, 

And of your ears be nimble croppers, 

And make your thumbs tobacco stoppers. 

If after all these lovely warnings. 

My wishes' and my bowels' yearnings. 

You shall remain as deaf as adder. 

Or grow with hostile rage the madder, 

I swear by George and by St. Paul 

I will exterminate you all. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 15 

Subscrib'd with my manual sign 

To test these presents, John Burgoyne* 



A VISION OF JUDGMENT. 

By John TRUMBULL.f 

I SAW along the prostrate strand 
Our baffled gen'rals quit the land, 

*Two burlesque proclamations, written in a similar 
caustic vein as this one, were published by the wags 
of the day while Gage was in command at Boston, in 
1775, and Lord Rawdon was in command of the 
South, in 1 781. The first was entitled "jTom Gage's 
Proclamation," and the second " Lord Rawdon's Proc- 
lamation." As these do not come within the scope 
of this work, they are not given. The curious reader, 
however, will find them in Moore's "Diary of the 
American Revolution," Vol. I., page 93. The procla- 
mation of Burgoyne, however, will be found in Ap- 
pendix No. III. 

f John Trumbull, poet, born in Westbury (now 
Watertown), Conn., April 24th, 1750; died in De- 
troit, Mich., May loth, 1831. He graduated from Yale 
in 1767, and with his friend. Timothy Dwight, wrote 
papers in the style of the Spectator, which were pub- 
lished in the Boston and New Haven journals in 
1769. He wrote many works, the chief of which and 
on which rests his principal reputation, was " McFin- 
gal" (Hartford, 1782). Its popularity was great — so 
much so that there were more than thirty pirated im- 
pressions of the poem in pamphlet and other forms. 
This poem was one of the keenest satires of the Revo- 



16 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

And swift as frighted mermaids flee* 
T' our boasted element, the sea ! 
Resign that long contested shore, 
Again the prize of rebel power, 
And tow'rd their town of refuge fly. 
Like convict Jews condemn'd to die.f 
Then tow'rd the north I turned my eyes, 
Where Saratoga's heights arise. 
And saw our chosen vet'ran band 
Descend like terror o'er the land ; % 

lutionary period ; and despite of its doggerel rhymes 
and Hudibrastic measure, it is a profoundly scholarly 
production. The above lines are from the fourth canto 
of this poem. 

* Alluding to the hasty departure of the British 
from Boston, when Howe perceived that he could no 
longer keep it. Although Washington had tacitly 
consented, on the application of Howe, to allow him 
to depart unmolested, yet great terror pervaded the 
ranks of the enemy and the households of the Tories. 
They all went aboard the ships on Sunday morning, 
March 17th; and on the same day the deserted city 
was taken possession of by General Putnam in the 
name of the Thirteen United Colonies. 

\ This is an allusion to the cities among the Jews, 
in which, if a murderer or other criminal could reach 
before arrest, he was safe from punishment. The city 
of refuge here alluded to was HaHfax, in Nova Scotia, 
to which the British army fled. 

X This was, up to that time, the victorious army of 
Burgoyne, which after capturing Ticonderoga and 
Mount Independence gained a victory at Hubbard- 
ton, and destroyed the American stores at Skenes- 
borough (now Whitehall, N. Y.), at the head of Lake 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 17 

T' oppose this fury of alarms, 

Saw all New England wake to arms, 

And evVy Yankey full of mettle 

Swarm forth like bees at sound of kettle * 

Not Rome, when Tarquin raped Lucretia,f 

Saw wilder must'ring of militia. 

Thro' all the woods and plains of fight, 

What mortal battles fiU'd my sight, 

While British corses strew'd the shore, 

And Hudson ting'd his streams with gore ! 

What tongue can tell the dismal day, 

Or paint the parti-color'd fray ; 



Champlain. Then, flushed with these successes, Bur- 
goyne marched slowly (being greatly impeded by the 
action of General Schuyler in felling trees across his 
path) through the wilderness toward Fort Edward — 
his objective point on the Hudson River. The farm- 
ers along this route fled in terror, dreading the sav- 
ages who accompanied the invaders. 

* When bees are swarming, loud beating upon so- 
norous metal, such as tin pans, kettles, etc., causes them 
to alight, or " settle," when they are without difficulty 
placed in a newly prepared hive. 

t The rape of Lucretia, by Sextus Tarquinius, is 
given in the old legends as the proximate cause of 
kingly power in Rome. The tragic result of the out- 
rage caused Brutus to swear, by the pure blood which 
incarnadined a dagger with which Lucretia had stab- 
bed herself, that he would pursue to the uttermost 
Tarquinius and all his race, and thenceforward suffer 
no man to be king at Rome. The aroused people 
gathered together, and passed a decree to the same 
effect, and Tarquin the Superb was banished. 



18 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

When yeomen left their fields afar 
To plough the crimson plains of war ; 
When zeal to swords transformed their shares, 
And turned their pruning-hooks to spears, 
Changed tailor's geese to guns and ball, 
And stretch'd to pikes the cobbler's awl ; * 
While hunters fierce like mighty Nimrod, 
Made on our troops a daring inroad ; 
And levelling squint on barrel round, 
Brought our beau-officers to ground ;f 

* The Loyalists often taunted the Whigs because 
some of their leaders were mechanics and tradesmen 
(Greene was a blacksmith and Knox a bookseller). 
In the temporary theatres established by the British 
in Boston, New York, Philadelphia and Charlottes- 
ville, Va., during the war, these taunts formed a staple 
of the amusements. It was so even after the war. 
Thus, on one occasion, a play was in course of per- 
formance in a London theatre, in which American 
officers were represented as mechanics of every kind. 
In the midst of the hilarity which the play occasioned 
on that account, an American sailor in the gallery 
shouted, " Hurrah ! England whipped by cobblers and 
tailors !" Thus, the tables were turned upon John 
Bull. 

f This has reference to the death of General Fraser 
during the second battle of Saratoga, on October 7th, 
1777. Dressed in full uniform, he made a conspicu- 
ous mark. Colonel Daniel Morgan, the commander 
of the Rifle Brigade, and who had been sent on by 
Washington from the Southern department to aid 
General Gates, perceiving that the fate of the day rest- 
ed upon that officer (Fraser), took twelve of his sharp- 
shooters aside, among whom was the celebrated marks- 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 19 

While rifle-frocks sent gen'rals cap'ring, 
And redcoats shrunk from leather apron, 
And epaulette and gorget run 
From whinyard brown and rusty gun ; 
While sunburnt wigs in high command 
Rush furious on our frighted band, 
And ancient beards and hoary hair 
Like meteors stream in troubled air* 
With locks unshorn not Samson more 
Made useless all the show of war, 
Nor fought with asses' jaw for rarity, 
With more success or singularity.f 
I saw our vet'ran thousands yield 
And pile their muskets on the field, 
And peasant guards in rueful plight 
March off our captured bands from sight ; 

man, " Tim" Murphy — men on whose precision of aim 
he could rely — and said to them : " That gallant officer 
yonder is General Fraser. I admire and respect him, 
but it is necessary for our good that he should die. 
Take your station and do your duty. Within a few 
moments a rifle-ball cut the crupper of Fraser's horse, 
and another, a moment after, passed through his horse's 
mane. Calling his attention to this, Fraser's aide said : 
" It is evident that you are marked out for particular 
aim ; would it not be prudent for you to retire from 
this place ?" Fraser replied : " My duty forbids me to 
fly from danger." The next moment he fell mortally 
wounded by a ball from the rifle of Murphy, and was 
carried off* the field by two grenadiers. 

* " Loose his beard and troubled hair 

Streamed like a meteor to the troubled air." 

— Gray. 

t Judges 15: 15. 



20 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

While ev'ry rebel fife in play- 
To yankey-doodle tun'd its lay, 
And like the music of the spheres, 
Mellifluous sooth'd their vanquish'd ears.* 
" Alas !" said I, " what baleful star 
Sheds fatal influence on the war, 
• And who that chosen chief of fame, 
That heads this grand parade of shame ?" 

There, see how fate, great Malcolm cried. 
Strikes with its bolts the tow'rs of pride. 
Behold that martial macaroni,f 

* After Burgoyne had surrendered, the prisoners 
started under guard across the country to Cambridge, 
Mass. They began their march to the tune of "Yan- 
kee Doodle," which they had so often heard in derision 
in the British camp. Indeed, the pride of Burgoyne 
was dreadfully humbled by the whole affair. He had 
but a short time previous declared that he would eat 
his Christmas dinner in Albany as a victor. He did, 
indeed, dine there earlier than Christmas, but as a pris- 
oner, although a guest at the table of his magnanimous 
foe, General Schuyler, whom he had greatly injured 
by having burned his house, mills, and other property 
at Saratoga. 

f This allusion to Burgoyne's foppery is a very happy 
one, as the young men of fashion, who composed the 
Macaroni Club, had very recently produced a great 
sensation in England. They were young men who 
had travelled in Italy, and had returned, bringing with 
them all the vices and follies which they had picked 
up abroad. Their club was formed in London in 1772, 
and it was particularly distinguished for the extrava- 
gance of its members in dress. The members wore 



The Burgoyne Ballads * 21 

Compound of Phcebus and Bellona * 
With warlike sword and singsong lay, 
Equipp'd alike for feast or fray, 
Where equal wit and valour join ; 
This, this is he, the famed Burgoyne ; 
Who pawn'd his honor and commission 
To coax the patriots to submission, 
By songs and balls secure obedience. 
And dance the ladies to allegiance.f 

enormous knots of hair behind, an exceedingly small 
cocked hat, an enormous walking-stick with long tas- 
sels, jacket, waistcoat and breeches, cut very close. 
Soon everything that was fashionable was a la maca- 
roni. Macaroni articles everywhere abounded, and 
macaroni songs were set to music. One song closed 
with this stanza : 

" Five pounds of hair they wear behind. 

The ladies to delight, O ! 
Their senses give unto the mind. 

To make themselves a fright, O! 
The fashion who does e'er pursue, 

I think a simple-toney ; 
For he's a fool, say what you will. 

Who is a macaroni !" 

Indeed, the word " macaroni" took the place of " beau" 
and " fribble," which had previously been given to men 
of fashion, in the same way that " dude," at the present 
day, has succeeded the word "dandy." 

* Phoebus was another name for Apollo, or the sun. 
Bellona was the accomplished Goddess of War. 

f When setting out for America, Burgoyne playfully 
remarked that he meant to dance the Whig ladies to 
obedience, when their husbands would soon follow. In 



2^ The Burgoyne Ballads, 

Oft his camp muses he'll parade 
At Boston in the grand blockade, 
And well invoked with punch of arrack, 
Hold converse sweet in tent or barrack, 
Inspired in more heroic fashion. 
Both by his theme and situation ; 
While force and proclamation grand. 
Rise fair beneath his plastic hand* 

this, as in many other things, he, as well as the Brit- 
ish officers, was grievously disappointed. Howe and 
Clinton and some of their subordinates expected 
to crush the rebellion in a week almost ; and it is said 
that they actually brought fishing-tackle with them to 
have some fine sport after the smoke of gunpowder 
had cleared away. 

* Burgoyne's proclamations, like those of Gage, 
were, as before stated, very pompous, and caused 
the wits of the day to publish in a burlesque vein 
counter-proclamations, as the ballads in this volume 
show. He was evidently very fond of making them, 
for he always delighted in the use of his pen. While 
in Boston, for instance, during the siege, he wrote a 
farce called " Boston Blockaded," in which the person 
designed to represent Washington enters with un- 
couth gait, wearing a large wig, a long, rusty sword, 
and attended by a servant armed with a dilapidated 
and rusty gun. Other American officers in this same 
play were similarly burlesqued. While this farce was 
in course of performance in the temporary^ theatre in 
Boston, on the night of January 8th, 1776, a ser- 
geant suddenly entered and exclaimed: "The Yan- 
kees are attacking our works on Bunker Hill!" 
The audience at first thought this was a part of the 
performance, and laughed immoderately at the idea, 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 23 

For genius swells more strong; and clear 
When close confined, like bottled beer ; 
So Prior's wit gained greater pow'r, 
By inspiration of the Tow'r ;* 
And Raleigh fast in prison hurl'd 
Wrote all the history of the world ;f 
So Wilkes grew, while in gaol he lay. 
More patriotic ev'ry day, 
But found his zeal, when not confined, 
Soon sink below the freezing point, 
And public spirit once so fair, 
Evaporate in open air.J 

but they were soon undeceived by the burly voice of 
Howe shouting: "Officers, to your alarm posts !" The 
people, it is needless to say, dispersed in the greatest 
confusion. The fact was, that majors Knowlton, 
Carey and Henley, three gallant American officers, had 
crossed the mill-dam from Cobble Hill, and had set 
fire to some houses in Charlestown, at the foot of Bun- 
ker Hill, occupied by some British soldiers. They 
burned eight houses, killed one man and carried off 
five prisoners. 

* Matthew Prior wrote his " Alma," the best of his 
works, while in confinement in the Tower of London. 

f Sir Walter Raleigh wrote his famous " History of 
the World " while confined in the Tower of London on 
a charge of treason. The first volume appeared in 
1614. 

% John Wilkes was a fearless political writer dur- 
ing the early years of the reign of George HI., in 
whose flesh he was a constant thorn, and was for a 
long time editor of the North Britain. In the forty- 
fifth number of that newspaper, published in 1763, he 
uttered sentiments considered libellous, and was sent 



24: The Burgoyne Ballads. 

But thou, great favorite of Venus * 
By no such luck shalt cramp thy genius; 

to the Tower. H is arrest was proved to be illegal, and he 
was released. For several years subsequent, as editor, 
as alderman in London and as a member of the House 
of Commons, he was considered a very dangerous 
enemy to the Crown. Wilkes was a licentious, un- 
principled man; and because he wrote an indecent 
" Essay on Woman " he was arraigned before the King's 
Bench, and, upon conviction, was expelled from Par- 
liament. He afterward obtained a verdict against 
Wood, the under-secretary of State, with $5000 dam- 
ages, and soon went to Paris. He afterward returned 
to England, and was again elected to the House of 
Commons, in 1768, but was deprived of his seat. He 
became Lord Mayor of London in 1774, when he took 
his seat in the House of Commons, becoming a 
stanch friend of the Americans in their contest with 
Great Britain. He was subsequently Chamberlain of 
London. Wilkes flourished but in the midst of agita- 
tion. When out of the troubled sea of politics, he 
sunk into obscurity, and died in the Isle of Wight, in 
1797, at the age of seventy years. For a detailed 
account of the political career of Wilkes, the reader is 
referred to "The Journals of Horace Walpole, during 
the Reign of George HI." 

* In allusion to the well-known licentious propen- 
sities of Burgoyne. It was at this time a well-known 
fact — since confirmed by the letters of Mrs. General von 
Riedesel — that during the retreat of his army after the 
disastrous defeat of October 7th, he thought much more 
of enjoying the charms of his mistress than of how to 
administer to the comfort of his forlorn troops. " Bur- 
goyne, however," says Mrs. General von Riedesel, in her 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 25 

Thy friendly stars till wars shall cease, 

Shall ward th' ill fortune of release, 

And hold them fast in bonds not feeble, 

In good condition still to scribble. 

Such merit fate shall shield from firing, 

Bomb, carcass, langridge and cold iron, 

Nor trusts thy doubly laurel'd head 

To rude assaults of flying lead. 

Hence in this Saratogue retreat, 

For pure good fortune thou'lt be beat ; 

Nor taken oft, released or rescued, 

Pass for small change, like simple Prescott ;* 

Journal, "would not, though urged by his generals, 
think of a farther advance that night; and while his 
army were suffering from cold and hunger, and every 
one was looking forward to the immediate future with 
apprehension, the illuminated mansion of General 
Schuyler [of which he had taken possession] rang with 
singing, laughter and the jingling of glasses. There 
Burgoyne was sitting with some merry companions, 
at a dainty supper, while the champagne was flowing. 
Near him sat the beautiful wife of an English com- 
missary, his mistress. Great as the calamity was, the 
frivolous general still kept up his orgies. Indeed, 
some were of the opinion that he had merely made 
that inexcusable stand for the sake of passing a merry 
night." See Stone's " Burgoyne's Campaign," pp. 87, 88. 
* General Prescott was twice taken prisoner during 
the Revolution. The first time he was captured at 
Montreal by Montgomery, near the close of 1775 ; and 
the second time he was seized in his rooms, while in 
command of the British forces in Rhode Island, in 
July, 1777. He was taken to the headquarters of 
the American army, and afterward exchanged for 



26 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

But captured then, as fates befall, 
Shalt stand thy hand for't, once for all. 
Then raise thy daring thoughts sublime, 
And dip thy conq'ring pen in rhyme, 
And changing war for puns and jokes, 
Write new blockades and maids of oaks * 

that traitor, General Charles Lee, who had been cap- 
tured in New Jersey in the December previous. The 
circumstances of his last capture were these: Colonel 
William Barton, with a few men in whale-boats, 
crossed Narragansett Bay in the night, for the purpose 
of seizing Prescott, who was a most despicable, petty 
tyrant of, as Lossing well says, " the meanest stamp." 
He was, like Lee — for whom, as has been said, he was 
afterward exchanged — taken from his bed, conveyed 
across to Warwick, and thence to Providence, and 
afterward to headquarters. A full account of the 
affair, with a portrait of Barton and a picture of the 
house from which Prescott was taken, may be found 
in Lossing's " Pictorial Field-Book of the Revolution." 

* This is another allusion to Burgoyne's farce of " The 
Siege of Boston." ** The Maid of the Oaks" was another 
farce from his fertile and versatile pen — for that he had 
extraordinary literary ability no one can doubt — a play 
which was much thought of, and was often performed 
in the English theatres. He also wrote a comedy, as 
mentioned in the introduction to the " Burgoyne 
Ballads" (see ante), entitled " The Heiress," which had 
a great reputation. 

For many of the above notes I am indebted to my 
old friend, the late Mr. Benson J. Lossing, who first 
published them in an annotated edition of " McFingal." 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 27 



THE PROGRESS OF SIR JACK BRAG.* 

Said Burgoyne to his men, as they pass'd in review, 

Tullalo, tullalo, tullalo, boys ! 
These rebels their course very quickly will rue. 
And fly as the leaves 'fore the autumn tempest flew, 

When him who is your leader they know, boys! 

They with men have now to deal, 

And we soon will make them feel, 
Tullalo, tullalo, tullalo, boys! 
That a loyal Briton's arm and a loyal Briton's steel 

Can put to flight a rebel as quick as other foe, 
boys! 

Tullalo, tullalo, tullalo— 

Tullalo, tullalo, tullalo-o-o-o, boys ! 



*" Burgoyne, more frequently than any other British 
officer, was the butt of the Continental wits. His 
verses were parodied, his amours celebrated in the 
songs of the mess-table, and his boasts and the weaker 
points in his nature caricatured in ballads and petite 
comedies. We obtained a manuscript copy of the 
song from which the above verses are quoted from an 
octogenarian Vermonter, who, with feeble frame, shrill 
voice and silvered locks of eighty-seven, would give the 
echoing chorus with as much enthusiasm as when he 
joined in it with his camp companions more than half 
a century ago. The only clue to its authorship with 
which we are acquainted is the signature, ' G. of H.' 
It was probably written soon after its hero's defeat at 
Saratoga." — Rufiis W. Griszvold, in the American 
Supplement to Disraelis " Curiosities of Literature.'' 



28 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

As to Sa-ra-tog'* he came, thinking how to jo the 
game, 
Tullalo, tullalo, tullalo, boys! 
He began to fear the grubs, in the branches of his famfr, 
He began to have the trembles lest a flash should be 
the flame, 
For which he had agreed his perfume to forego, 

boys! 
No lack of skill, but fates. 
Shall make us yield to Gates, 
Tullalo, tullalo, tullalo, boys ! 
The devil may have leagued, as you know, with the 
States ! 
But we never will be beat by any mortal foe, boys ! 
Tullalo, tullalo, tullalo — 
Tullalo, tullalo, tullalo-o-o-o, boys ! 

*The present word " Saratoga," the world's famous 
watering-place, has had many different spellings. Dr. 
Steel says, in his work, that it is a corruption of the 
Indian word Sah-rah-ka, meaning " the side hill," and 
"was applied by the natives more particularly to that 
part of the country which lies between Saratoga Lake 
and the Hudson, where the appHcation of the term is 
amply justified by the appearance of the country." 
This explanation, however plausible, I believe is not 
correct. Saratoga is an Indian word of the Iroquois 
language, derived from " Saragh-aga" or "oga," and, ac- 
cording to Sir William Johnson, means " the place of 
the herrings," from the fact that, in early colonial times, 
before the mills were built at Troy, Schuylersville, etc., 
herrings used to run up in large shoals into Saratoga 
Lake by way of Fish Creek and the Hudson. The 
inflections *' oga" and "aga" are local phrases, and sig- 
nify "place" or "inhabitants of." In the same sense 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 29. 

BURGOYNE'S DEFEAT. 

(From an old pamphlet.) 

Ye powers above, look down and pity our case, 
For the once great Burgoyne is now in distress; 
For I am surrounded with a numerous foe, 
Which I fear my whole army will soon overthrow. 

O curs'd be the men that did us deceive,* 

And curs'd be old Schuyler, that made us believe 



the inflection " aga" is used in the words On-ond-aga, 
Sac-and-aga, Ti-con-der-aga, Ca-nand-aga, etc. See 
Stone's *' Life of Sir William Johnson ;" also Henry 
Schoolcraft's letter to the author. 

* Alluding to Philip Skene (after whom Skenesbor- 
ough,now Whitehall, N.Y., was named), who continual- 
ly advised Burgoyne to pursue Schuyler and to under- 
take the expedition against Bennington, telling him 
most positively that all he (Burgoyne) had to do was 
to leave some plunder in his track, when all the Am- 
ericans would be so engaged in gathering it up, that 
he could easily overcome them. Skene, also, was 
responsible for the fatal mistake Burgoyne made of 
taking the route from Whitehall to Fort Edward by 
way of Wood Creek, instead of at once proceeding by 
way of Lake George by water-carriage — a course which 
gave Schuyler ample opportunity of obstructing his 
path by felling trees, etc., thus giving time foi^the 
yeomanry to rally and for Washington to send Mor- 
gan to the help of Gates. This advice was given 
to Burgoyne by Skene solely to enable him, at the 
army's expense, to have a good road cut for him from 
Skenesborough (Whitehall, N. Y.) to the lower set- 



30 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

That he would retreat before us and make no alarm 
'Till we'd landed in Albany free from all harm. 

O, I am surrounded with sorrow and grief, 
Ye Goddess Diana, O ! send some relief, 
Or send me some comfort my mind for to feed, 
Or send me a cordial, for I ne'er had more need. 

And now fellow-soldiers, what to advise to do. 
Go forward we cannot — nor back we can't go. 
And if we stay here we surely must die ; 
My heart is overwhelmed, O ! where shall I fly ? 

What say you, my lads, must we yield unto men 
That we've so long held in so great disdain. 
And called them rebels and despised Yankees too. 
And looked upon them as a cowardly crew ? 

O, safety says yes, but honor says no — 
Our case is deplorable, what shall we do ? 
Our honor is sweet, but our lives are more dear, 
My eyes do break forth in a fountain of tears. 

O curs'd be the day that I e'er came here. 
And crossed the Atlantic to buy wit so dear; 
And curs'd be the villains that did so much hurt 
By carrying to England so false a report. 

For it is commonly reported in fair England 

That the sight of one Briton will make ten Yankees 

run — 
The report of a cannon will make Yankees fly,^* 
E'en were they as numerous as stars in the sky. 

tlements. See Ramsey's " American Revolution," than 
which there is no better authority. 

* Burgoyne is said to have stated to his king that 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 31 

But alas ! by experience I find it is false ; 
For of the two, Yankees are better than us ; 
They will fight with great valor in the open field — 
Take them in the forest, then Britons must yield. 

They'll shut up one eye and squint on their gun, 
We're certainly dead boys as soon as that's done ; 
We can stand no more chance among Yankee boys 
Than to throw an old cat into Bedlam without claws. 

Then what shall we do ? Diana don't hear, 
To our supplications she turns a deaf ear ; 
We'll complain to our gods of our sorrow and woe, 
Our good old friend Jupiter will hear us, I know. 

We'll complain to Mars, and Saturn also. 
And likewise mild Venus shall hear of our woe ; 
And if they'll not regard us, will make our complaint 
To the lady Mary and the good old saint. 

You gentlemen all think on't as you will, 

The Britons have used the Americans ill ; 

And for that same reason we are brought into stall. 

We never shall prosper in this war at all. 

For our gods will not hear us, though we cry and 

weep. 
They have gone a long journey or fallen asleep ; 
They are regardless of our requests. 
As the British Court is of the American Congress. 

Thus I think it in vain on our gods for to call, 
For they are not able to help us at all ; 
We'll go to brave Gates — ^that's complete. 
He'll give us an answer in hopes that is sweet. 

"with one regiment he could march triumphantly 
through all the American colonies." 



32 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

He'll grant us the privilege for to march out 
In the honor of war though in the worst route ; 
And if he'll do so we'll bless his name, 
And let him be crowned with honor and fame. 

We are all 'greed to do as you have said, 
We'll go very humble with hopes on our head, 
Acknowledge before him we all deserve death, 
If he saves us we'll praise him whilst we have breath. 

We sent to his honor, our request he did grant ; 
His bountiful hands did supply all our wants ; 
He opened his stores, our wants did supply, 
Let brave Gates' enemy before him all fly. 

Ye Heavens, send down your blessings amain 
On the head of brave Gates, let his foes be slain. 
Or otherwise bow to that brave general. 
Let Britons and foreigners before him all fall. 

For his honour is great and his valour unknown, 
He scorns in his heart the thoughts of a clown ; 
He's gallant and brave and generous too, 
Right worthy gen'ral, I bid you adieu. 



THE FATE OF JOHN BURGOYNE. 

When Jack, the king's commander, 

Was going to his duty. 
Through all the crowd he smiled and bow'd 

To every blooming beauty. 

The city rung with feats he'd done 

In Portugal and Flanders, 
And all the town thought he'd be crown'd 

The first of Alexanders.* 

* See sketch of General Burgoyne, ante. 



Tke Burgoyne Ballads. 33 

To Hampton Court he first repairs 
To kiss great George's hand, sirs ; 

Then to harangue on state affairs 
Before he left the land, sirs. 

The Lower House sat mute as mouse 

To hear his grand oration ; 
And all the peers, with loudest cheers, 

Proclaimed him to the nation. 

Then off he went to Canada, 

Next to Ticonderoga, 
And quitting those away he goes 

Straightway to Saratoga. 

With great parade his march he made 

To gain his wished for station. 
While far and wide his minions hied 

To spread his Proclamation. 

To such as staid he offers made 

Of ""pardon on submission ; 
But savage bands should waste the lands 

Of all in opposition." 

But ah, the cruel fates of war ! 

This boasted son of Britain, 
When mounting his triumphal car 

With sudden fear was smitten. 

The sons of Freedom gathered round. 

His hostile bands confounded. 
And when they'd fain have turned their back 

They found themselves surrounded ! 

In vain they fought, in vain they fled, 

Their chief, humane and tender, 
To save the rest soon thought it best 

His forces to surrender. 



34 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

Brave St. Clair * when he first retired 
Knew what the fates portended ; 

* The troops with which General St. Clair had gar- 
risoned Ticonderoga, in view of a possible attack by 
Burgoyne, were ill equipped, badly armed, and amount- 
ed, including nine hundred militia, to about three 
thousand men. As General Philips, with the right 
wing of Burgoyne's army, approached Ticonderoga, the 
Americans abandoned their outworks, and the British, 
without hindrance, immediately took possession of and 
fortified Mount Defiance, a mountain completely over- 
looking Ticonderoga, and the possibility of which 
event had been suggested by Governor Trumbull, but 
which hint, on account of lack of men, was not acted 
upon. Under these circumstances St. Clair had no 
alternative but to evacuate the fort during the night 
and retreat into Vermont, sending his stores and sick 
on bateaux up Lake Champlain to Skenesborough. 

No event during the Revolutionary War, as it has 
been justly said, produced such consternation through- 
out the colonies as the evacuation of Ticonderoga 
— a fortress which, even by Washington himself, had 
been regarded as a tower of strength, and one, too, 
before which, as a matter of course, Burgoyne would 
be stopped on his march southward to Albany. In- 
deed, nothing could have been more unexpected 
than this event. " It was," says Dr. Dwight, who lived 
as a contemporary with the actors in these scenes, 
" the bursting of a meteor, which, by its awful peal, 
shook every habitation from Maine to Georgia." That 
there was a fault somewhere admits of no doubt. 
But whatever was the cause — whether the officers 
and their subordinates overrated the strength of the 
enemy, or what — the excessive disappointment of the 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 35 

And Arnold and heroic Gates* 
His conduct have defended. 

Thus may America's brave sons 

With honor be rewarded, 
Ajid the fate of all her foes 

The same as here recorded. 



people was most terrible, and greatly increased the 
astonishment and dismay. General St. Clair was after- 
ward tried by a court-martial for the loss of this fort, 
but was acquitted of all blame. The consequence^ 
however, of this terrible misfortune has received no 
mitigation by his acquittal. . 

This much, however, must be said — viz., that though 
St. Clair failed in being a great genius, he was a noble 
man in his feelings and sympathies, and was not un- 
successful, as Headley has justly said, "from want of 
patriotism or willingness to sacrifice himself." Wash- 
ington knew this, and hence never withdrew his confi- 
dence. He had him by his side at Brandj wine, though 
holding no commission, and as soon as the court-martial 
pronounced his acquittal, again intrusted him with the 
highest responsibilities. This is saying a great deal in 
his praise ; and finally, in 1788, when the Northwestern 
Territory was erected into a government, St. Clair, 
doubtless with the concurrence of Washington, was 
appointed governor of that territory, which office he 
held until 1802. 

* For a short sketch of General Gates, see Appendix 
No. n. ^^ 



36 Tlie Burgoyne Ballads. 



THE CAPTURE AT SARATOGA* 

Here followeth the direful fate 

Of Burgoyne and his army great, 

Who so proudly did display 

The terrors of despotic sway. 

His power and pride and many threats 

Have been brought low by fort'nate Gates, 

To bend to the United States. 

British prisoners by convention, - - 2442 

Foreigners by contravention, - - - 2198 

Tories sent across the lake, - - - iioo 

Burgoyne and his suite in state, - - - 12 

Sick and wounded, bruised and pounded, \ ^ 

Ne'er so much before confounded, j ' ^ 

Prisoners of war before convention, - - 400 

Deserters come with kind intention, - - 300 

They lost at Bennington's great battle, 

Where Stark's glorious arms did rattle. 

Killed in September and October, - - 600 

Ta'en by brave Brown.f some drunk, some sober, 413 

Slain by high-famed Herkerman,J ) 

On both flanks, on rear and van, j " ' 

Indians, settlers, butchers, drovers, "] 

Enough to crowd large plains all over 

And those whom gfrim Death did prevent 

From fighting against our continent ; r ^^ 

And also those who stole away. 

Lest they down their arms should lay, 

* From a contemporary magazine, though copied 
extensively in the newspapers of the day. 

f Colonel John Brown, of Massachusetts. See note 
under " The North Campaign." 

% General Herkimer, of New York. 



1220 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 37 

Abhorring that obnoxious day; 

The whole make fourteen thousand men, ) 

Who may not with us fight again, j 14000 

This is a pretty just account 

Of Burgoyne's legions' whole amount, 

Who came across the northern lakes 

To desolate our happy States. 

Their brass cannon we have got all. 

Fifty-six — both great and small : 

And ten thousand stand of arms, 

To prevent all future harms : 

Stores and implements complete, 

Of workmanship exceeding neat ; 

Covered wagons in great plenty, 

And proper harness, no ways scanty. 

Among our prisoners there are 

Six generals of fame most rare ; 

Six members of their parliament 

Reluctantly they seem content : 

Three British lords, and Lord Balcarras^' 

Who came our country free to harass. 

* Balcarras, Alexander Lindsay, earl of, British 
soldier, born in 1752; died in London, March 27th, 
1825. He was the eldest son of the fifth earl of Bal- 
carras, whom he succeeded in 1767. He became an 
ensign in the Fifty-third foot, and was made major 
December 9th, 1775. In this country he saw three 
years of service under Carleton and Burgoyne. He 
was present at the defeat of the Americans, under Gen- 
eral Thompson, at Three Rivers, June ist, 1776, and 
commanded the light infantry at Ticonderoga and at 
Hubbardton, Vt, July 7th, 1777. In the latter action 
he was wounded — thirteen balls passing through his 
clothes. In the battle of September 19th he com- 



38 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

Two baronets of high extraction 
Were sorely wounded in the action. 



BURGOYNE'S ADVANCE AND FALL. 

(An extract from America Independent.) 
BY PHILIP FRENEAU.* 

Led on by lust of lucre and renown, 

Burgoyne came marching with his thousands down ; 

manded the advanced corps of the army at Free- 
man's Farm; and in the action of October 7th, 1777, 
on the death of General Eraser, October 8th, 1777, he 
was made lieutenant-colonel of the Twenty-fourth 
foot. He became major-general in 1793, commander 
in Jamaica ; lieutenant-governor of that island in 1 794 ; 
lieutenant-general in 1798, and general in 1803. His 
bravery and prominence in both of the battles of Sar- 
atoga have alw^ays received particular mention. 

* Philip Freneau, poet, born in New York City, 
January 2d, 1752 ; died near Freehold, N. J., December 
1 8th, 1832. Some of his published poems were written 
before he left college (Princeton). On a voyage to 
the West Indies, in 1780, he was captured by an 
English cruiser, and his experiences as a prisoner are 
recorded in bitter terms in his " British Prison-Ship." 
On regaining his liberty, the following year, he wrote 
frequently, both in prose and verse, for the Freeman s 
Journal. After the close of the war he became 
editor of the New York Daily Advertiser. The 
violence of this paper's attacks on the Federalists 
aroused Hamilton's anger, who accused him of being 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 39 

High were his thoughts, and furious his career, 
Puft'd with self-confidence, and pride severe, 
Swoln with the idea of his future deeds, 
On to ruin each advantage leads. 
Before his hosts his heaviest curses flew. 
And conquer'd worlds rose hourly to his view : 
His wrath, like Jove's, could bear with no control, 
His words bespoke the mischief in his soul ; 
To fight was not this miscreant's only trade, 
He shin'd in writing, and his wit display'd. 
To awe the more with titles of command 
He told oi forts he rurd in Scottish land; 
Queen's colonel ^^-^^ he was he did not know 
That thorns and thistles, mix'd with honors, grow ; 
In Britain's senate though he held a place, 
All did not save him from one long disgrace. 
One stroke of fortune that convinc'd them all 
That we could conquer, and lieutenants fall. 
Foe to the rights of man, proud plunderer, say 
Had conquest crown'd thee on that mighty day 
When you to Gates, with sorrow, rage and shame 
Resign'd your conquests, honors, arms, and fame, 
When at his feet Britannia's wreaths you threw, 
And the sun sicken'd at a sight so new ; 
Had you been victor — what a waste of woe ! 
What souls had vanish'd to where souls do go ! 

the "tool of Jefferson," which forced the latter to write 
an explanatory letter to Washington. He afterward 
was connected with several newspapers. He is the 
author of many works, both of prose and verse. A 
volume of his poems, published in Philadelphia in 
1786, abounds in patriotic sentiments and allusions 
to the various events of the war. Indeed, he has been 
not unaptly styled " the poet of the Revolution." ^ 



40 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

What dire distress had mark'd your fatal way, 

What deaths on deaths disgrace that dismal day ! 

Can laurels flourish in a soil of blood, 

Or on those laurels can fair honors bud ? 

Curs'd be that wretch who murder makes his trade, 

Curs'd be all arms that e'er ambition made ! 

What murdering tory now relieves your grief 

Or plans new conquests for his favorite chief; 

Designs still dark employ that ruffian race, 

Beasts of your choosing, and our own disgrace. 

So vile a crew the world ne'er saw before. 

And grant, ye pitying heavens, it may no more. 

If ghosts from hell infest our poison'd air. 

Those ghosts have enter' d these base bodies here. 

Murder and blood is still their dear delight — 

Scream round their roots, ye ravens of the night ! 

Whene'er they wed, may demons, and despair, 

And grief, and woe, and blackest night be there ; 

Fiends leagu'd from hell, the nuptial lamp display, 

Swift to perdition light them on their way. 

Round the wide world their devilish squadrons chase. 

To find no realm that grants one resting place. 

Far to the north, on Scotland's utmost end, 

An isle there lies, the haunt of every fiend. 

There screeching owls, and screaming vultures rest, 

And not a tree adorns its barren breast ! 

No shepherds there attend their bleating flocks, 

But wither'd witches rove among the rocks : 

Shrouded in ice, the blasted mountains show 

Their cloven heads, to fright the seas below ; 

The lamp of heaven in his diurnal race 

Here scarcely deigns to unveil his radiant face ; 

Or if one day he circling treads the sky 

He views this island with an angry eye; 

Or ambient fogs their broad, moist wings expand. 

Damp his bright ray, and cloud the infernal land ; 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 41 

The blackening wind incessant storms prolong, 
Dull as their night, and dreary as my song ; ^ 

When stormy winds with rain refuse to blow, 
Then from the dark sky drives the unpitying snow ; 
When drifting snow from iron clouds forbear, 
Then down the hailstones rattle through the air. 
No peace, no rest, the elements bestow. 
But seas forever rage, and storms forever blow. 
Here, miscreants, here with loyal hearts retire, 
Here pitch your tents, and kindle here your fire ; 
Here desert Nature will her stings display. 
And fiercest hunger on your vitals prey. 
And with themselves let John Burgoyne retire 
To reign the monarch, whom your hearts admire. 



ST. CLAIR'S RETREAT, AND BURGOYNE'S 

DEFEAT. 

By Rev. Wheeler Case.* 

St. Clair is stationed in our Northern fort, 

T' oppose Burgoy7te, sent from the British coast. 



* Rev. Wheeler Case was born at Southold, Long 
Island, in 1732. He died in 1788, at Pleasant Valley, 
Dutchess County, N. Y., where his tombstone is yet 
( 1 893) still to be seen. The poems were first published 
anonymously in 1778, and have since been reproduced 
by Dodd in 1852. Rev. Mr. Case was the pastor for 
many years of the Presbyterian Church of Pleasant 
Valley, N. Y. In his preface to his pamphlet he states 
that the poems were first composed for his own amuse- 
ment, without any idea of printing them ; but after- 
ward, thinking they might contribute a little toward 



42 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

The fortress all complete in every part, 

Well fortified hj nature and by art ; 

How firm the walls! the lines completely mann'd, 

Huge cannon planted round, all parts well scann'd. 

The gen'ral now his soldiers all address'd. 

And like a hero thus himself express'd : 

"Let martial courage in your bosoms glow, 

Nor fear to face a proud invading foe; 

You know our cause is just; we need not fear. 

The God of armies will for us appear. 

Fair Liberty commands; here make the stand. 

Here we will die, or save our injur'd land. 

You all detest the shameful name of slave ; 

Then play the man, and rank among the brave. 

My orders you will all as one obey, 

Our foes, all panic-struck, will sneak away. 

Then we 

But who — what troops are these just here in sight. 
All clad in arms complete, prepar'd to fight? 



promoting the noble cause of liberty, he consented to 
their publication. " If the friends of liberty," he adds 
in his preface, "should be of the same mind with him, 
he hopes they will be good enough to excuse practical 
errors, as he had never made the art of poetry his 
study. As for others, he is not concerned about them, 
being persuaded the time is drawing nigh when they 
will be fully convinced that liberty is better than 
slavery, and independence is much better than being 
dependent upon a prince who chooses that they should 
live no longer than during his pleasure, or submit to 
abject slavery." I am indebted for the above facts to 
his great-grandson, Walter C. Anthony, of New- 
burgh, N. Y. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 43 

They are Great Britain's troops — a rising storm 

They all appear of a gigantic form ! 

These sons of Anak spread all o'er the land, 

Before this mighty host we cannot stand. 

Should we foolhardy with them now engage, 

We fall at once sure victims to their rage ; 

With sword unsheath'd they're all advancing nigh. 

Let ev'ry man prepare himself to fly. 

I now comma7id you all with speed to run, 

Leave all your baggage, and not fire a gun." 

The soldiers with reluctance now obey. 

They all retreat, and St. Clair leads the way. 

Whether with panic struck he took the flight. 

Or to ensnare Burgoyne in dismal plight, 

The muse must leave till she has further light. 

Perhaps by impulse he foreknew the fates. 

And fled to save the whole United States. 

W^hether fear or impulse govern'd in his breast, 

Kind Providence o'erruled it for the best.^ 

Burgoyne, elated, now pursues the chase, 

And threatens vengeance to the rebel race ; 



'^ Here the author, writing at the time that the 
evacuation of Ticonderoga was fresh in the public 
mind, and with every patriot smarting under what was 
then considered a needless surrender of that fort, does 
St. Clair great injustice. St. Clair could not have 
done otherwise, and if Colonel Trumbull's advice had 
been followed in regard to fortifying Sugar-Loaf Hill 
(see Stone's " Burgoyne's Campaign"), the fort need 
not have been given up. St. Clair, however, did as a true 
patriot what was the best, and thus saved his army,which 
eventually captured all of Burgoyne's army. The sub- 
sequent court-martial of St. Clair, undertaken at the 
demand of public opinion, fully vindicated his conduct. 



44: The Burgoyne Ballads. 

He boasts aloud, his threat'nings round he hurl'd, 
As tho' assur'd of conquering all the world. 
With hellish pride he triumphs o'er the north, 
Enumerates his titles and his worth, 
And sends his thund'ring proclamation forth.* 
Persuasive arguments at first he us'd. 
Then blood and slaughter, if they him refus'd. 
He dipp'd his pen in oil to soothe and please. 
Then his address began in words like these : 
" Why will you thus desert my master's cause, 
And trample underfoot his righteous laws } 
Cease to rebel, repent, return and live, 
I've sealed pardons in my hand to give. 
Remain upon your farms, there safely stay. 
With all your horses, cattle, and your hay ; 
Nor hide your oats, your barley, or your wheat, 
Then you from me shall safe protection meet ; 
You need not fear, no one shall you annoy, 
Come and submit, I'll find you full employ ; 
I'll bore your ear unto my master's door, 
'Tis all he has in view, he wants no more. 
Submit your necks to his most easy yoke, 
So that you may avert the dreadful stroke. 
As mediator, I do you entreat 
With all submission fall at Georges feet. 
My royal master's pleasure and your good 
Is my design, could it be understood. 
Oh ! for the eloquence of a Demosthenes, 
Could I your mind impress, or could I please, 

* The writer here refers to the bombastic proclama- 
tion of Burgoyne, sent out from his camp at the river 
Bouquet, June 23d, i ']']']. To show the burlesque more 
understandingly, the proclamation, as previously stated, 
is given under Appendix No. III. 



The JBurgoyne Ballads. 46 

Could I but melt your stubborn temper down 

To due submission to the British crown. 

When I have done my work I am content 

With what I'm to receive from Government. 

But if my royal master you despise, 

And 'gainst the clearest light you shut your eyes, 

If you are still determined to rebel 

And counteract his laws, all plann'd so well, 

Then I'm in duty bound to let you know 

What I have full authority to do : 

I come commissioned from great Georges throne, 

To vindicate his honor and my own. 

A great and potent army I command, 

With floods of rebel blood to drench the land ; 

Thousands oi Indians I've supplied with knives 

To scalp your dearest children and your wives. 

If I but nod the savage army flies, 

And naught is heard but shrieks and female cries. 

Believe my word, this sure will be your fate,^' 

You soon must feel the vengeance of the State. 

Let not your Hezekiahs you deceive. 

None of your pulpit orators believe. 

In whom do you confide ? Come tell. 

That ye against my master dare rebel. 

Is it on Gallic bands,f or is it Spain? 

They'll disappoint your trust, your hope is vain. 



*This. again, is an unjust imputation against 
Burgoyne, who, notwithstanding the threats in his 
proclamation, did all he could to restrain Indian 
atrocities. Indeed, it was to this fact, that before the 
battles of Saratoga nearly all his savage allies deserted 
him. 

f Referring to rumors, even then prevalent, that 



46 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

Were they with you combined, they'd with you fall, 

Just like a tottering fence or bowing wall. 

What Britain did last war you know full well, 

Her banners wav'd, united powers fell. 

What armies ever could her force withstand } 

Hath she not conquered both the sea and land ? 

What madness then to oppose a power so great. 

While weak and feeble in your infant state !" 

Reply : Britain, 'tis true, her conquests far hath spread. 

Nations to her have bow'd and tribute paid, 

Her vict'ries she hath spread o'er sea and land, 

Before her potent armies none could stand. 

Horror and darkness now are spread around. 

Our woes increase, and no deliverer's found. 

Great desolation in the north is made, 

Our strongest fort resigned, St. Clair is fled ; 

The poor distressed inhabitants now fly, 

And on the Providence of GOD rely. 

The baser sort are flocking to Burgoyne, 

Others now tremble, lest they must resign. 

Why these despairing tho'ts } Why all this fear } 

Who knows but GOD will soon for us appear.? 

The night's the darkest, best observers say, 

E'en just before the dawning of the day ; 

Who knows but these our groans and female cries, 

Which sound thro' all the woods, may reach the skies .-^ 

Our cause is just, we dare appeal to heaven ; 

We fight for what our gracious GOD has given. 

You threaten vengeance with your dreadful rod, 

As if you fill'd the seat and throne of GOD. 

But hark ! the sov'reign speaks. Vengeance is mine. 

And now I will repay it on Burgoyne. 

France would soon take part with the colonies in their 
struggle with the Mother country. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 47 

The horrors which you have denounced of late 

Shall fall upon your own devoted pate. 

Burgoyne is rushing on in quest of blood, 

And Indians shout for victory thro' the wood. 

He solemnly declares, unless we yield 

Horror and death await us in the field. 

He sends his bloody flag from house to house ; 

The mountains travail, and bring forth a mouse. 

While thus he threatens ruin to these States, 

Behold ! here comes the brave heroic GATES. 

The gloom dispell'd, the light doth now appear, 

And shines thro' all the Northern Hemisphere ; 

Our troops collect and marshal in array, 

Complete in arms, their banners they display. 

Btwgoyne now views them all in arms complete, 

Struck with a panic, orders a retreat. 

The soldiers trembling, his commands obey, 

And he, the most intrepid, leads the way. 

Our brave commander then pursues with speed, 

Soon overtakes, and numbers lie and bleed ; 

Our valiant troops enclose Burgoyne around. 

And take the best advantage of the ground. 

The British hero that appear'd so prompt 

Is now enclos'd hy Yankees in a swamp. 

The great Burgoyne is now overwhelm'd with grief, 

Nor has he any hope to obtain relief. 

The rebel army he with scorn defied 

Have him encompass'd round on ev'ry side. 

Alas ! how great his grief, how 'cute his pain ! 

How great is his reproach, how great the stain ! 

Surprising strange ! how singular his case ! 

By rebels close confined in such a place. 

One thing especially that makes him mourn. 

Great generals and lords that strut and spurn 

Are fond of having room enough to turn. 



48 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

What seiz'd his soul with horror and surprise, 

He expects now soon to fall a sacrifice — 

A sacrifice to Liberty's brave sons. 

For blood of innocence and dying groans 

His sorrows rise; an overwhelming flood, 

Conscience accus'd, and justice cried for blood. 

Whole rivers of such blood could ne'er atone 

For all the horrid murders he had done. 

Now, thunderstruck, with these ill-boding fates. 

Resigns himself and army up to Gates. 



THE FALL OF BURGOYNE. 
By Rev. Wheeler Case. 

Is this Burgoyne, Burgoyne the great, 

Who fill'd our land with woe. 
And threaten'd vengeance from the State, 

Is he now fell so low? 

Is't he that made the earth to tremble, 

That was so great a curse. 
That doth great Babel's king resemble, 

Is he now weak like us ? 

To Indians he gives stretch no more, 
Nor them supplies with knives 

To stain our land with crimson gore, 
With them to scalp our wives. 

His threat'ning proclamation's stopped. 
He's now o'erspread with gloom, 

The wings with which he flew are cropp'd, 
He has no elbow room. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 49 

His titles he proclaims no more, 

No more his triumphs spread,' 
His thund 'ring cannon cease to roar, 

And all his joys are fled. 

Where is his great and mighty host, 

That huge gigantic race, 
The sons of Anak, Britain's boast ? 

They're pris'ners in disgrace. 

Pris'ners to rebels, Yankees too, 

O mortifying stroke ! 
They caught Burgoyne with all his crew, 

Britons now wear the yoke. 

Great Washington, that man of might, 

Hath laid a snare for Howe ; 
Unless with speed he takes his flight. 

He to the yoke must bow. 



AN ANSWER FOR THE MESSENGERS OF 
THE NATION. 

(Is. 14: 32.) 
By Rev. Wheeler Case. 
When messengers come from a foreign land, 
With peaceful branch of olive in their hand,' 
If hand and heart unite, if both agree. 
From ill designs and all suspicion free, 
We'll then receive them in the arms of love ; 
They are not men, but angels from above.* 

***** 
Now let us view the Northern Hemisphere 
And see the footsteps of Jehovah there. 

*The part omitted, marked by stains, refers e"iui^ 



50 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

We'll first survey the dark side of the cloud, 
Where scenes of woe in dark succession crowd ; 
The cruel savage tribes in union join, 
And with the British army all combine ; 
They soon are in possession of Fort " Ti ; " 
Our troops retreat, and with the country fly. 
An heart of stone must bleed to hear the cries, 
While numbers fall a bloody sacrifice 
To B^^itains cruel sons and savage rage. 
As naught but blood their fury would assuage, 
A dark and dismal gloom around us spread, 
And joy and gladness from our souls were fled ; 
We thought our country lost, our freedom gone. 
And these United States were all undone. 
The great Burgoyne's most formidable host 
Now march along, and as they march they boast. 
They boldly rush along, they rage and roar. 
Like swelling waves that dash against the shore. 
Now is the time for Zions God t' appear. 
His people's groans and cries have reached his ear. 
The Lord for them hath laid a secret snare ; 
They'll not escape, but be entangl'd there. 
Great Gen'ral Gates appears, inspir'd from heaven. 
Wisdom and fortitude to him are given. 
Our soldiers all collect from East to West, 
With martial ardor glowing in their breast ; 
They stop the great Burgoyne in his career. 
Him they surround, his feet are in the snare; 
With forc'd submission now he bows to Gates, 
He and his hosts made pris'ners to these States. 



to Washington and the battles of Trenton and Prince- 
ton. As this is not germane to the object of this 
work, it is here omitted. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 61 

Thick clouds of darkness that our heads hung o'er 

Have vanished suddenly, and seen no more ; 

The rays of light break forth, how clear the skies, 

Our gloom is scatter'd, and our hopes arise. 

May love and gratitude inspire our breast, 

Praise God for these, and trust him for the rest. 

These gracious smiles are to prepare the way 

For greater things, for a more glorious day. 

This horrid, bloody scene erelong will end, 

And richer blessings from on high descend. 

What's been a snare to us, what's prov'd our fate, , 

We've been too long corrupted with the great. 

The British king and his most vicious court 

Practise all kinds of vice, and them support. 

Most nat'rally these painted vices flow 

From higher ranks to those that are below f 

How rapidly they've flown down from the great, 

In silver streams, and poison'd every State. 

Jehovah reigns above, and rules below, 

He dries our tears, and they shall cease to flow ; 

And blessings pour on those where virtue reigns. 

The yoke of tyrants broke, and all their chains ; 

Vice, put to flight, hides its malignant head. 

And plotting foes no more in corners hid ; 

Peace, like a river, flows thro' all the land, 

No tyrant moves his tongue or lifts his hand ; 

Our liberty extends both far and wide. 

Our borders lengthen out on every side ; 

States in successive growing numbers rise, 

The greatest empire this below the skies. 

* Those vices to which the writer alludes have been 
most admirably brought out by Mr. J. C. Markham 
in his alto rilievos which adorn the Saratoga Monu- 
ment. 



52 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

In gloomy deserts, our most distant land, 
Large cities shall be built and churches stand ; 
There Zion's sons, commission'd from above, 
Shall spread the news of their Redeemer's love. 
Where wolves now range, and other beasts of prey; 
Where Indian tribes more savage are than they ; 
Where now the war-whoop sounds they bow prostrate, 
Shall worship at the King of Zion's gate ; 
Where stand the oak, the beech and the tall pine, 
There shall be corn-fields and the fruitful vine ; 
Where marshes abound and the wild flag grows, 
There shall be the lily and the blushing rose ; 
The most delicious fruits shall ripen there, 
The peach, the plum, the apple and the pear. 
Trade unconfined extensively shall grow, 
And riches here from every nation flow. 
Our naval force how great ! our fleets abound, 
Our flocks and herds spread o'er the land around : 
Here every sort of fruit springs up and grows, 
And all the land with milk and honey flows. 



THE FIRST CHAPTER OF THE LAMENTA- 
TIONS OF GENERAL BURGOYNE. 

(Written in 1778.) 

By Rev. Wheeler Case.* 

Good heavens ! how deep I'm plung'd in woe ! 
None knows what I now undergo. 
Britain assum'd a sovereign power. 
To crush her sons while in their flower. 



* See previous poem for sketch of Rev. Mr. Case's 
life. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 53 

One now was wanting bold and brave 

T' enforce her laws, the sons to enslave. 

To get a name, to gain applause, 

I readily espous'd her cause. 

I undertook amidst the throng 

To head her army, right or wrong. 

Britain I left, and cross'd the seas. 

His Majesty and North to please. 

I landed on Canadia's shore. 

The land and lakes I then pass'd o'er ; 

I march'd along, my banners spread. 

And struck the rebels all with dread. 

I soon was master of Fort "Ti;"* 

Like sheep they all before me fly ; 

My Indians shout, my cannon roar, 

The land is stained with crimson gore. 

All things are pleasing, all things bright, 

The rebel army dare not fight. 

The sun in its meridian shone, 

I thought the day was now my own. 

To Britain I dispatch'd a post, 

And joy was spread thro' all their coast. 

But oh, the change, the sudden change ! 

Affairs now took a turn most strange. 

The hero. Gates, appears in sight. 

His troops all cloth'd with armor bright; 

They all as one their banners spread. 

With ''Death or Victory' on their head.f 



^Ticonderoga. In the common conversation of the 
day, this fort was called Fort "Ti," for short. 

f General Gates's soldiers wore this badge in capitals 
on their hats, " Death or Victory^' Note to the original 
poem. 



54 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

A sudden panic seiz'd my breast ; 
Now, to retreat I thought was best. 
I gave the word and led the way, 
My orders all as one obey. 
In this precipitate retreat, 
Our whole dependence was our feet. 
Like Tories, they have thus deceiv'd, 
Oh ! that we'd never them believ'd. 
While running thro' a swampy ground, 
The rebel army us surround ; 

horrid place ! O dreadful gloom ! 

1 mourn for want of elbow room. 
My tawny soldiers, from me fled. 
Have now return'd to scalp my head. 
I hear them whoop, I hear them yell, 
I'm at the very gates of hell. 

O horror this ! unhappy wretch ! 
They've took an unexpected stretch ; 
I'm here confin'd, and naught to eat, 
They've robb'd me of my bread and meat. 
Water, I thought, was always free, 
But that is now denied to me. 

that my royal master knew 
How I am treated by this crew ! 
He, lion-like, of whelps bereav'd, 
Would see us instantly reliev'd — 
No, the attempt would all be vain, 
They fight like devils, not like men. 
But who would ever have believ'd 
That I could thus have been deceiv'd.^ 

1 thought five thousand men, or less. 
Thro' all these States might safely pass, 
March boldly on one steady course. 
The States all trembling at our force.* 

* In allusion to the remark of General Burgoyne to 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 55 

My error now I see too late, 
Here I'm confin'd within this State* 
Yes, in this little spot of ground, 
Enclos'd by Yankees all around. 
With this five thousand — yes with ten. 
And these Great Britain s chosen men. 
In Europe let it ne'er be known. 
Nor publish it in Askelon, 
Lest the uncircumcised rejoice, 
And distant nations join their voice.f 
What will my friends in Britain say ? 
I wrote them I had gained the day, 
I made them both rejoice and sing, J 
But now they'll strike a mournful string. 
Three things now strike me with surprise : 
First, I believ'd the Tories' lies ; 
What also brought me to this plight, 
I thought the Yankees would not fight.§ 



George IV., when contemplating his expedition — viz., 
that " with five thousand men he could easily march 
through the entire American colonies." 

'^'' Rhode Island, where Burgoyne was kept until his 
exchange. 

t Burgoyne, as mentioned in the preliminary sketch 
of that general, before coming to America had served 
with great distinction in Europe — a fact which caused 
him to be selected to command this expedition. No 
wonder, then, that he should have felt terribly morti- 
fied at the unlucky result of his campaign in America. 

% Burgoyne's despatches to England previous to his 
surrender had been of the most encouraging descrip- 
tion. 

§ Probably in allusion to the fact that Governor 
Skene had told Burgoyne, before the latter sent out his 



56 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

Thirdly, I'm most asham'd to say, 

I fled so' fast I missed my way. 

How strange that I should take this route, ^ 

When I'm so swamp'd and hemm'd about, 

The de'il himself could ne'er get out. 

Alas! I'm overborne with grief! 

There's none appears for my relief ! 

Where are my titles and my fame } 

I've lost my honor and my name. 

At Bennington, Stark gave the wound 

Which, like a gangrene, spread around 

O'er Saratoga's cursed ground. 

Heart-sickness seiz'd the camp so fast, 

All courage fail'd ; and there at last 

Arnold and Lincoln gave the blow 

That proved our final overthrow. 

Arnold yR\\\\^mg^ our lines flew o'er. 

The like I never saw before ; 

expedition to Bennington, that the inhabitants would 
make no resistance — in fact, said Skene, " all you have 
to do is to scatter plunder on your march, and then 
the rebels will be so busily engaged in collecting it, 
that you need have no fear of any attack." Skene, in 
fact, in more senses than one, was Burgoyne's evil 
genius ; for it was through his advice that Burgoyne 
advanced by land in pursuit of Schuyler, instead of tak- 
ing Lake George, by which means so much time was 
lost that Schuyler had ample time to gather his forces 
to make his successful stand at Saratoga. Ramsey, 
in his " History of the American Revolution," states 
that Skene gave this advice, so that, at the expense 
of Great Britain, he could have a road cut through 
from Skenesborough (Whitehall, N. Y.) to benefit 
himself. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 57 

He threaten'd death to every one 
That dar'd to fire another gun. 
The Hessians, thunderstruck, turn pale * 
The stupid asses' hearts now fail ; 
Thus seiz'd with trembling and dismay, 
Their new commander they obey ; 
The panic spread from breast to breast, 
And^J was struck among the rest. 
Language now fails — it can't express 
Th' amazing horror and distress. 
Cannon-like claps of thunder roar, 
Their balls like hail upon us pour ; 
Flashes of fire around us blaze : 
The sun now lost his feebler rays : 
Volumes of smoke o'ercloud the skies. 
And scenes of blood salute our eyes. 
The gloom of death around us waits. 
And all the vengeance of the States. 
I must submit or die— but how 
To these despised Yankees bow ? 
I wish I never had been born. 
If I submit, I'm laugh'd to scorn ; 



* Brunswukers, not Hessians, who were chiefly in 
the Southern Department. The Brunswickers, at the 
second battle of Saratoga, manned the Brunswick re- 
doubt captured by Arnold in his impetuous charge at 
the close of the battle. Through the patriotic efforts of 
Mrs. E. H. Walworth, that most energetic trustee of 
the Saratoga Monument Association, General de Pey- 
ster has placed a beautiful tablet marking the site of 
Arnold's charge, Hon. James M. Marvin, George M. 
Pullman and others have also erected tablets on 
different points of the battle-ground. 



58 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

If I refuse, I know my doom — 
Among the living I've no room. 
The blood of innocence I've shed — 
This fills my guilty soul with dread. 
My brethren's blood against me cries, 
And calls for vengeance from the skies. 
Cain's crime was great, but not so bad, 
The blood of only one he shed ; 
But I have laid a country waste. 
And human nature have disgrac'd ; 
I've slain each sex of ev'ry age, 
And slaughter'd victims to my rage.* 
One demon only tempted Cain, 
Legion, and more within me reign. 
Horror and death do me surprise, 
A shower of lead around me flies. 
In Saul, when guilt and fear arise. 
Away to Endor straight he goes ; 
He prays the witch, tho' most unjust, 
To raise up Samuel^ from the dust. 
That he might tell what would be best 
For him to do while thus distress' d. 
But I'm confined, and cannot go 
To Endor, there to tell my woe ; 
I'm here pent up to grieve and mourn, 
I scarce have room enough to turn. " 

*As st2itQdLante, this imputation on Burgoyne is most 
unjust. Still, allowance must be made for the bitter 
partisan feeling of the day. 

f The fact of the writer emphasizing Samuel wo\x\di 
seem to show he had some one particularly in his 
mind — an allusion which, at the time this was written, 
was probably understood, but which is lost to us 
readers of the present day. 



TJie Burgoyne Ballads, 69 

O that that prophet would arise, 

My priests have told me naught but lies. 

What shall I say ? — what shall I do ? 

" My council, now I turn to you." 

A council now of war is held ; 

They all as one agree to yield ; 

Their colors strike, to Gates they bow, 

Lay down their arms, and off they go.* 

* -X- % -X- * 

As they begin to march, as soon 

The conquerors all agree 
To sound the "Yankee Doodle "tune 

Upon the highest key.f 

* This, again, is in allusion to the fact that Burgoyne, 
against the advice of Riedesel and all the officers whom 
he had summoned into council, was at first deter- 
mined not to surrender, but to try and reach Fort Ed- 
ward, and thence, via Lakes George and Champlain, to 
Canada. And it was only after the most strenuous ex- 
ertions on the part of his generals that he finally yielded. 
Had he not done so, his entire army would have 
been compelled to surrender most ignominiously, and 
without any conditions whatever. 

f " The origin of this air," says Lossing, " is involved 
in obscurity. It seems to be older than the United 
States. It is also said to be the tune of an old Eng- 
lish nursery song called * Lucy Locket,' which was 
current in the time of Charles II. In New England 
Colonial times it was known as ' Lydia Fisher's Jig.' 
A song composed in derision of Cromwell began with 
'"Yankee Doodle came in town, 
Riding on a pony. 
With a feather in his hat, 
Upon a macaroni.' " 



60 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

Musicians all of various kinds 
With utmost skill now play, 

To raise the pris'ners' drooping minds, 
And demons drive away. 

Such charms of music ne'er before 
Were heard within our land, 

But all their skill they now give o'er 
For want of David's hand."^ 



A DIALOGUE BETWEEN COLONEL PAINE 
AND MISS CLORINDA FAIRCHILD, 
WHEN TAKING LEAVE OF HER TO 
GO ON THE NORTHERN EXPEDITION 
AGAINST BURGOYNE. 

Col. Paine. — I'm come to let my dear Clorinda know 
My bleeding country calls, and I must go. 

* A surgeon who was with Sir William Johnson in 
1755, at Lake George, composed a song to the air which 
he called " Yankee," as a take-off of the uncouth appear- 
ance of the Provincial troops. Contrary, however, to 
his design, it was considered good martial music, and 
became very popular. While the British were in 
Boston some poet wrote a piece in derision of the New 
England troops, which Mr. Lossing gives in full in his 
"Cyclopaedia of United States History" (Harper & 
Bros.). This is the original " Yankee Doodle " song. 
"The tune," says Lossing, "is so associated with the 
patriotic deeds of Americans, that it always inspires a 
love of country in the heart of any good citizen." It ' 
is now accepted as our national air, and is in positive 
contrast in spirit to the stately " God Save the King" 
of Old England. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 61 

Distress'd it calls aloud, To arms ! to arms ! 
The trumpet sounds, I now must leave your charms. 
I've drawn my sword, I'll go forth with the brave, 
And die a freeman, ere I live a slave. 

Clo. — Good Heavens ! can this be true — can it be 
so ? 
You pierce my heart, I'm overwhelmed with woe. 
Is this your love — is this the kind return, 
To win my heart, and leave me thus to mourn ? 
Oh, should you fall a victim there to death, 
I can't survive, I must resign my breath ! 

Paine. — My dear Cloi^ain, forbear to weep — forbear ! 
I trust my life to God's paternal care ; 
He will protect the men whose cause is just 
And in the God of armies put their trust. 
We'll boldly go and smite those rebels dead 
Who dare oppose our Continental Head ; 
Then I'll return and my Clorinda wed. 

Clo. — If naught your mind will change, then take 
the field. 
Go play the man, and Heaven be your shield. 
Go forth and act the hero, crush our foes, 
Who slav'ry love and liberty oppose. 
May Liberty's brave sons the triumph spread, 
Put all their foes to flight, or view them dead. 
Should Heaven, propitious, our good cause maintain, 
And our brave troops with you victorious reign, 
Then cheerfully with them we'll victory sing, 
And join with them in praise of Zion's King. 
With what transporting joy I'd then receive 
That dearest man with whom I wish to live. 
But oh ! the cruel fate of war — 

Paine. — My dear Clorain, forbear ; we now must 
part. 
Adieu, my love — but oh ! my bleeding heart. 



62 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

This said, the tears flow'd from her eyes, 
Her cheeks all pale spread o'er ; 

Each other they embrace with sighs, 
'Till they could weep no more. 

* « -K- -K- * 

Clo. — Farewell, my dear, farewell, dear Colonel Pame 
Heaven be your guard, while foes around are slain, 
Return you safe, where love and freedom reign. 

Paine. — Farewell, my dear C lor am, my only fair, 
May angels keep you safe from ev'ry snare, 
Adieu, my dear, I leave you in their care. 



A SHORT REVIEW OF BURGOYNE'S 
EXPEDITION. 



BY ROBERT DINSMORE.* 



My faithful friend and uncle, kind, 

I would bring some things to your mind, 

^'' Robert Dinsmore, poet, born in Windham, N. H., 
October 7th, 1757; died there March i6th, 1836. 
He was of Scotch-Irish descent. At the age of eigh- 
teen he enlisted in the Revolutionary Army, and served 
at the battle of Saratoga. He became a farmer at 
Windham, was a zealous Presbyterian, and used to 
make verses on topics arising from personal incidents. 
He called himself the "Rustic Bard," and published, in 
1828, a volume entitled " Incidental Poems." In his 
" Old Portraits and Modern Sketches" Whittier says : 
** He lived to a good old age, a home-loving, unpre- 
tending farmer, cultivating his acres with his own 
horny hands, and cheering the long rainy days and 
winter evenings with homely rhyme. He wrote some- 
times to amuse his neighbors, often to soothe their sor- 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 63 

Which still impress'd on mine I find, 

By recollection ; 
That seems my heart with yours to bind 

In strong affection. 

From my first dawn of life you've known me ; 
When Nature on the world had thrown me, 
You did a first-born nephew own me, 

Or younger brother ; 
And friendship ever since have shown me, 

Kind like my mother. 

Childhood and youth, manhood and age, 
You've been my friend in every stage ; 
Sometimes in sport we would engage, 

Our nerves to try ; 
Sometimes t' explore the music page, 

The genius ply. 

When British laws would us enthrall, 
Our country for defence did call ; 
Then martial fire inspir'd us all, 

To arms we flew ; 
And as a soldier, stand or fall, 

I went with you ! 

O'er western hills we travell'd far, 
Pass'd Saratoga, the site of war. 



row under domestic calamity, or to give expression to 
his own." 

The poem here given was written to Deacon Isaac 
Cochran, of Antrim, N. H., his mother's brother, who 
was a lieutenant at the taking of General Burgoyne, 
October 17th, 1777. 



64 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

Where Burgoyne roll'd his feudal car 

Down Hudson's strand :' 
And Gates, our glorious western* star, 

Held high command. 

From the green ridgef we glanced our eyes, 
Where village flames illum'd the skies. 
Destruction there was no surprise, 

On Hudson's shore! 
Though smoke in burning pillars rise, 

And cannons roar ! 

But to Fort Edward we were sent, 
Through icy BartenskilnJ we went, 
And on that plain we pitch'd our tent, 

'Gainst rain and snow ; 
Our orders there, was \_szc^ to prevent 

The flying foe. 

By counter orders, back we came. 
And cross'd the Hudson's rapid stream. 
At Schuyler's Mills,§ of no small fame, 

Thence took our post. 
Near Burgoyne's line, with fixed aim 

To take his host! 

^ Gates's home was then in Pennsylvania, at that 
time considered West. 

f Now, the road leading from the village of Quaker 
Springs to Schuylersville, N. Y. This road was first 
cut through by Burgoyne to make a path for General 
Fraser, who led the right wing in its advance south. 

J The Battenkill, which, rising in Vermont, empties 
into the Hudson, between Fort Miller and Schuylers- 
ville. 

§ The present village of Schuylersville, N. Y. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 65 

With courage bold, we took the field, 
Our foes no more their swords could wield, 
God was our strength, and He our shield, 

A present aid. 
Proud Burgoyne's army there did yield, 

All captive made ! 

Great Britain's honor there was stain'd, 
We sang a glorious victory gain'd ! 
From hence our States a rank obtain'd, 

'Mongst nations great ; 
Our future glory was ordain'd, 

As sure as fate ! 

To Windham, back with joy we turn'd, 
Where parents dear our absence mourn'd ; 
And our fair friends in rapture burn'd 

To see our faces ! 
Sweet pearly drops their cheeks adorn'd 

In our embraces ! 

When all our vanquish' d foes were fled, 
Love, peace and harmony were shed, 
Like oil descending on the head, 

Or milk or wine ; 
Williams,'^' the man of God, us fed 

With food divine. 

O ! let not you and I \sic\ forget 
How often we've together met, 
Like Heman and Jeduthon,f set 

In God's own house ; 
And solemnly his table at 

Renew'd our vows ! 

* Rev. Simon Williams. 

fThe two principal leaders of the singing in the 
congregation at Windham. 



66 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

And when the sacred scene was past, 

We sang Doxology at last, 

To Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, 

United Three ! 
One God, our souls redeemed last, 

So let it be. 

While Reason in her seat remains, 
And blood runs streaming in my veins, 
Or Memory her power retains, 

I shall review, 
And think upon the various scenes 

I've past with you. 



FOUR BURGOYNE EPIGRAMS. 

I* 

In seventeen hundred and seventy-seven. 
General Burgoyne set out for Heaven ; 
But, as the Yankees would rebel. 
He missed his route and went to Hell. 

II. 

Burgoyne, alas ! unknowing future fates. 

Could force his way through woods, but not through 

GATES.f 

* My friend. Dr. James D. Butler, formerly of Ver- 
mont, but now (1893) of Madison, Wis., sends me the 
above, which, he writes, was current in Vermont for a 
long time after the Revolution. 

f The author of the above epigram, which was pub- 
lished in 1777, shortly after the battles of Saratoga, 
was David Edwards. He was born in the city of New 
York in the spring of 1 747, of English parents. His 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 67 

III. 



A CABINET REPARTEE 



^:- 



To North the Lean said George the Wise, 
Here's with 07ze Arnold much ado ;■ 

father, John Edwards, was a well-known character in 
town, where he followed the profession of a "tea-water 
man." At the early age of twelve years, David was 
apprenticed to Garret Noel, at the Meal Market 
Noel was the principal bookseller in the city, and he 
afterward transferred young Edwards to Hugh Gaine, 
the publisher of the New York Merctiry, who taught 
him the printing business. David became a member 
of a secret association called the " Liberty Boys," of 
whom Isaac Lean was at the head, and was the 
author of most of the political squibs circulated by 
them in the city. He was an active participator in 
the stamp and tea-act troubles, and was wounded 
on January i8th, 1770, in the fray which occurred 
between the citizens and soldiers on Golden Hill (John 
Street, between Gold and Cliff streets), since known as 
the " Battle of Golden Hill," and which action, instead 
of that at Lexington, caused the first bloodshed in the 
war of the American Revolution. Fie remained in 
the city until its occupation by the British, in 1776, 
when he went with his employer to Newark, and 
remained there a week, during which time Gaine made 
his terms with Howe, and returned to New York and 
became a rank Tory. David, however, refused to ac- 
company him, and, going to Trenton, was at once em- 
ployed by Isaac Collins, the printer of the New Jersey 
Gazette, in whose employ he continued until the close 
of the war. In 1784 he returned to New York and 



68 JKe Burgoyne Ballads. 

The drowsy Premier, starting, cries, 
'Tis well, my liege, there are not two / 

IV. 

OUR COMMANDERS.f 

Gage nothing did, and went to pot ; 
Howe lost one town, another got ; 
Guy J nothing lost, and nothing won ; 
Dunmore was homewards forced to run ; 
Clinton was beat, and got a garter, 
And bouncing Burgoyne catch'd a Tartar; 
Thus all w^e gain for millions spent 
Is to be laugh'd at, and repent. 

worked for Samuel London until his death, which occur- 
red in 1 794. The greater part of the poetical effusions 
which appeared in CoUins's paper were attributed to 
Edwards. For a portion of the above sketch I am in- 
debted to Albert J. Disney, in the Historical Maga- 
zine, Vol. III., page 350. 

Another version of the authorship of the verses — 
doubtless without foundation — is that it was composed 
by a student at the Westminster School, who wrote it 
in Latin as an epigrammatic couplet upon the subject 
" Saratoga" — that being the word selected for the day's 
exercises. So at least says the "Chaplet of Comus." 

■^ Epigram from the New York Public Advertiser of 
December 5th, 1777. Walpole, in his "Last Journals," 
II., page 159, says that it was written by Arnold him- 
self, as a parody of one of Burgoyne's manifestoes. 

f This epigram is from the London Evening Post. 

% Sir Guy Carleton, by far the ablest general and 
most humane officer that England ever sent out to the 
colonies. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 69 

THE HALCYON DAYS OF OLD ENGLAND ; 

OR, 

WISDOM OF ADMINISTRATION DEMON- 
STRATED.^ 

{To the tune of " Ye Medley of Mortals") 

Give ear to my song, I'll now tell you a story. 
This is the bright era of Old England's glory ; 
And though some may think us in pitiful plight, 
I'll swear they're mistaken, for matters go right ! 

Sing tantarara, wise all, wise all, 

Sing tantarara, wise all. 

Let us laugh at the cavils of weak silly elves ! 
Our statesmen are wise men ! — they say so them- 
selves ! 
And though little mortals may hear it with wonder, 
'Tis consummate wisdom that causes each blunder ! 
Sing tantarara, etc. 

'^ On December 2d, 1777, an express arrived in Lon- 
don from Carleton saying that he had learned by 
deserters and believed that the Provincials had taken 
Burgoyne and his whole army prisoners. On the 15th 
this unwelcome news was confirmed by Captain Craig, 
as Walpole writes, "after great slaughter and desertion 
of the Germans." This charge against Burgoyne's 
German allies is in the highest degree unjust, since, 
had it not been for them, it is exceedingly doubtful if 
Burgoyne would have had any army to surrender. 
The Brunswickers, under the brave Riedesel, prevented 
the utter rout of Burgoyne on September 19th, and 
saved his army from annihilation on October 7th. 
At the end of December Walpole wrote and publish- 
ed the above ballad. Walpole's " Last Journals," Vol. 
II., page 187. 



70 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

They now are conducting a glorious war ! 
(It began about tea, about featiiers, and tar !) 
With spirit they pushed what they planned with sense ! 
Forty millions they've spent for a tax of three pence ! 
Sing tantarara, etc. 

The debts of the nation do grieve them so sore, 
To lighten our burden — they load us the more ! 
They aim at the American cash, my dear honey ! 
Yet beggar this kingdom and send them the money. 
Sing tantarara, etc. 

What honors we're gaining by taking their forts, 
Destroying bateaux and blocking up ports ; 
Burgoyne would have worked them — but for a mishap. 
By Gates and one Arnold he's caught in a trap ! 
Sing tantarara, etc. 

But Howe was more cautious and prudent by far, 
He sailed with his fleet up the great Delaware ; 
All summer he struggled and strove to undo them, 
But the plague of it was that he could not get to them. 

Sing tantarara, etc. 

Oh, think us not cruel because our allies 

Are savagely scalping men, women, and boys ! 

Natural affection to this step doth move us — 

The more they are scalped, the more they will love us ! 

Sing tantarara, etc. 

Some folks are uneasy and make a great pother. 

For the loss of one army and half of another ; 

But, sirs, next campaign by ten thousands we'll slay 

them. 
If we can but find soldiers and money to pay them ! 

Sing tantarara, etc. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. Tl 

I've sung you mv song, now I'll give you a pray'r : 
May peace soon succeed to this horrible war ! 
Again may we live with our brethren in concord ! 
And the authors of mischief all hang in a strong cord ! 

Sing tantarara, etc. 



TWO BURGOYNE DITTIES. 

I. 

Father and I went down to camp, 
Along with Captain Goodwin ; 
There we saw the men and boys 
As thick as hasty pudding. 
And there we saw a deuced gun, 
As big as tree of maple, 
'Twas on a deuced little cart, 
A load for father's cattle ! 

II.* 

John Burgine's a mighty big man. 
" Give me five thousand men," says he, 
" And I'll clean out the rebel clan ; 
Give me five thousand men," says he, 

* Mr. Jared C. Markham, in sending me the above 
ditty, writes as follows : " The enclosed verses, as near 
as I can remember, were those that my grandfather, 
Asa Markham, used to sing to me when I was a 
child, sixty years ago. Asa Markham, a great-grandson 
of Daniel Markham, who was the first of the family to 
come to the colonies, in 1666. Daniel Markham was 
an own cousin to Major William Markham, the father 
of William Markham, who was archbishop of York, 
and one of the private council of George III. (p. 3), at 



72 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

" And we'll march the country through. 

The rebels are cowards, you'll see, 

The people are loyal and true." 

The men are raised, and on comes John, 

With red-coats and Hessians in plenty. 

The Tories and Indians fall in 

In regiments and battalion, 

And 'mong them was seen grim Gov'nor Skene* 

Upon his old blundering stallion. 

But let them all j'ine and come on, 

With all their big lords and ladies. 

And all their gew-gaws and laces. 

All got with their taxes on tea. 

And everything else they can see. 

Of the tax we won't pay a penny. 

We ask no *' protection" of George, 

And of John we do not expect any, 

With all his grand proclamations ! 

the time of the American Revolution. So, while 
the archbishop was luxuriating at the British court, 
and encouraging by his advice his king to war upon 
the colonies, his second cousin was enjoying the 
freedom of colonial rebellion and revolution. Again, 
a great-grandson of the archbishop, Clements R. 
Markham, is now the secretary of the Royal Geo- 
graphical Society in London, while, on this side, in 
the United States, the present writer is the architect 
of the Saratoga Monument — a structure which com- 
memorates the surrender of Burgoyne — an event 
which was the turning-point of the Revolution." 

'^Governor Skene was always during the Revo- 
lution a bete noir. To him were ascribed by the 
settlers many of the annoyances and troubles of the 
day. Hence this allusion. 



The Burgoyne Ballads, 73 

Of pardon and fine "protection," 

He's 'listed the whole Six Nations 

To bring us into subjection. 

But let the poor devils come on, 

The Indians and Tories and John, 

We'll learn them a trick they don't know ! 



AN OLD VERSE. 

The following specimen of ingenious versification 
was published in a Philadelphia paper while the fate 
of Burgoyne was in doubt. It may be read three dif- 
ferent ways : First, let the whole be read in the order 
in which it was written ; second, read the lines down- 
ward on the left of each comma in every line ; third, 
in the same manner on the right of each comma. In 
the first reading the Revolutionary cause is condemned, 
and by the others it is encouraged and lauded. 

Hark! hark! the trumpet sounds, the din of war's 

alarms. 
O'er seas and solid grounds, doth call us all to arms ; 
Who for King George doth stand, their honors soon 

shall shine ; 
Their ruin is at hand, who with the congress join. 
The acts of parliament, in them I much'^delight, 
I hate their cursed intent, who for the congress fio-ht ; 
The Tories of to-day, they are my daily toast, 
They soon will sneak away, who independence boast ; 
Who non-resistance hold, they have my hand and heart' 
May they for slaves be sold, who act a Whiggish part ' 
On Mansfield, North and Bute, may daily blessings 

pour. 
Confusion and dispute, on congress evermore. 
To North and British lord, may honors still be done >' 
I wish a block or cord, to Gen. Washington. 



74: The Burgoyne Ballads. 

EPITAPH 

On two American officers who were killed and scalped 
by the Indians in the employ of the British at Isle aux 
Noix, where the tombstone is still to be seen : 

" Sons of America, rest in quiet here, 
Britannia, blush, Burgoyne, let fall a tear ; 
And tremble, Europe, sons with savage case \stc\, 
Death and Revenge await you with disgrace." 



MERZ KATER. 



[A BURLESQUE soug and popular air, which the 
Brunswick officers (captured at Saratoga), in their 
quarters at Bethlehem, Pa., in 1779, used to sing:] 

" 1st es nicht ein rechter Scherz 
Wenn ein Kater in den Merz 
Auf den Dash, ruft seiner Frau 
Und beshudz schreyt Mi-au !" '^ 

* This first stanza is the only one preserved in the 
traditions of the captive "Convention troops," still 
preserved among the old inhabitants of Bethlehem, Pa. 

TRANSLATION. 

" Is it not a rare delight, 
When a tom-cat in the night, 
On the roof tree makes his bow. 
Calling to his wife, Mi-au !" 

ANECDOTE. 

In August of 1777, and for a period of ten months 
thereafter, the minister's house of the Lebanon, Pa., 
Moravian congregation was the abode of Hessian pris- 



The JBurgoyne Ballads. Y5 

TO THE RELICS OF MY BRITISFI GREN- 
ADIER. 

By E. W. B. Canning.^' 

I HAVE in my possession a portion of the skeleton of 
a British officer of the grenadiers, who was killed in 



oners. ^ The pastor of the congregation has made the 
following entry in his diary, under date of February 
4th, 1778: ^ 

"To-day a rifleman from Ausbach and a corporal 
visited me. They related that recently General Howe 
had written a letter to Washington, containing merely 
a transcript of chapter 7 of the prophet Ezekiel, and 
that Washington had replied by an epistle embodyino- 
chapter 4 of the Book of Baruch." "^ 

Communicated to the author by Mr. John W. Jor- 
dan, of Philadelphia, Pa. 

'^ Edward W. B. Canning, poet and author, was 
born in Gill, Mass., November 8th, i8i3;and after 
graduating from Williams College he taught school 
ni Western Virginia, but removed to Stockbridge, 
where he became principal of the Williams Academj/. 
In 1854 he founded a family school, which he 
continued until 1858. He always took great inter- 
est in anything pertaining to our Revolutionary his- 
tory, especially that relating to our border warfare. 
He was mainly instrumental in having placed the 
unique memorial to the Stockbridge Indians in the 
naval cemetery of Stockbridge, and also in procuring 
the erection ofthe monument which now (1893) mark^ 
the site of the fall of Colonel Ephraim Williams (the 
founder of Williams College) at the battle of Lake 
George, September, 1755 ; and Mr. Canning's name is 



78 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

the battle of October 5th, 1777, which was accidentally 
exhumed in the spring- of 1852. The skull has a per- 
foration through the right temple, and the bullet that 
made it was found inside. A portion of his uniform 
coat bears the color and texture of the cloth and two 
heavily gold-plated buttons, after a burial of seventy- 
five years. — Canning, 

Strange bivouac, old Grenadier, 
Thou in my quiet study here, 

Hast found at last ; 
While I, who life's campaign began 
When thou for forty years hadst done, 

Patrol the past. 

O had your hollow skull a brain. 
Your bony mouth a tongue again, 

I know full well 
In zvhys and whens and hows you'd find 
A Yankee of the bluest kind 

Your sentinel. 

very appropriately inscribed on the monument as one 
of the originators of that tribute to a most distin- 
guished man in colonial times. He was also, until his 
death, a valued trustee of the Saratoga Monument 
Association, and until a few years since— when his 
many engagements forced him to resign — its corre- 
sponding secretary. During the time that Mr. Canning 
held the position of deputy naval officer of the port 
of New York, it was the writer's good fortune to be 
associated with him ; during all of which time he was 
constantly struck with his loving graciousness of 
manner, which, combined with rare dignity and ex- 
ecutive ability, made him not only respected but 
revered. He died August 12th, 1890. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 77 

I guess for many an hour we'd join 
In talk about Sir John Burgoyne, 

And the " whole boodle," 
Who 'gan their game of brag in June, 
But on one bright October noon 
Laid pride and arms down to the tune 

Of " Yankee Doodle." 

Just as old Dido ached of old 
To be by brave ^Eneas told 

Quantus Achilles — 
Ouales" — but I can't write it all — 
iSo I am prurient to recall 
How once our fathers pounded small 

King George's follies. 

I long for more about that day 
When Rebels met in grim array 

The Regulars: 
When trumpet clang and plunging shot 
And shouting made the battle hot 

About their ears. 

When Dearborn,* Poor,f and Paterson,J 



* Major-General Henry Dearborn, born in North 
Hampton, N. H., February 23d, 1751; died in Rox- 
bury, Mass., June 6th, 1829. He served with bravery 
at the battles of Bunker Hill (where he caused the 
retreat) and Saratoga, and accompanied Arnold in his 
expedition to Canada in 1775. He was appointed by 
Jefferson Secretary of War — an office he held from 
1793 to 1797. He was appointed senior major- 
general in the United States Army January 27th, 
18 1 2, and assigned to the command of the Northern 
Department. He published an account of the battle 



78 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

And Cilley, Brooks* and Livingston, 

With hearts of steel, 
Met Phillips, Fraser, Hamilton, 
Rolling the tide of slaughter on, 
And made them reel. 

When Morgan and his riflemen 
'* Bearded the lion in his den," 

And signed his name ; 
While Arnold — battle's thunderbolt — 
Flashed, like a comet on a colt, 

About the plain — 

I'd ask what gallant Fraser said, 
When bullet from the tree-top sped, 



of Bunker Hill and wrote a journal of his expedition 
to Canada. He was also a minister to Portugal from 
1822 to 1824. Fort Dearborn (the site of Chicago, 
111.) was named after him. 

f General Enoch Poor, born in Andover, Mass., 
June 2ist, 1736, died near Hackensack, N. J., Septem- 
ber 8th, 1780. He served with great distinction 
till near the close of the Revolutionary War ; and in 
announcing his death. General Washington declared 
him to be " an officer of distinguished merit, who as a 
citizen and a soldier had every claim to the esteem of 
his country." 

% Major-General John Paterson, distinguished for 
bravery and patriotism during Daniel Shays's Rebellion 
in 1 786, he commanded a detachment of Berkshire 
militia that was ordered out to suppress the rising. 
M. C. during 1803 to 1805. 

* Afterward governor of Massachusetts. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 79 

Its work had done : 
How stout old Earl Balcarras tore, 
When Yankees " true to Freedom swore" 

His twelve pound gun. 

How many inches on that day 
The visage ot Burgoyne, I pray, 

A lengthening went ? 
Didst hear him say — as once before — 
That with ten thousand men — no more — 
He'd conquering walk from shore to shore 

The continent ? 

But I forget, old Grenadier, 
You never lived yourself, to hear 

What others said: 
A luckless missile found you out, 
And, killing instantly no doubt, 

It bored your head. 

For seventy-five long years, old brave. 
You occupied your shaliow grave — 

No gun to stir ; 
At length by plough and not by drum 
Disturbed your huge wreck has become 

My prisoner. 

And now I'll keep you guarding there 
All of your coat the mould could spare. 

And darkling worm ; 
With the gashed ball by which you died, 
And buttons, too, that lit with pride 

Your uniform. 

To those infused with martial leaven, 
Of Bemus's Heights in '']'] 



80 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

You'll tell for long ; 
Aye — and perchance some bard may troll 
From out that ragged bullet hole, 

Another song. 



BURGOYNE'S DEFEAT. 

An Ancient Ditty. 

Come, all you valiant soldiers that's courage stout 

and bold, 
Who scorn as long as life doth last, ever to be con- 

troll'd ; 
Come listen to my ditty, and the truth to you I'll tell. 
Concerning many a soldier, who for his country fell. 

Brave General Burgoyne from Canada set sail, 
'Twas with eight thousand regulars, he thought would 

never fail ; 
With Hessians, Canadians and Tories, as we hear. 
Beside a fleet of shipping, o'er Lake Champlain did 

steer. 

Before Ticonderoga, the first day of July, 

Their fleet and army did appear, and we did them 

espy ; 
Their motions we observed full well both night and 

day. 
And our brave boys prepared all for the bloody fray. 

Our garrison they viewed, and soon their troops did 

land ; 
When General St. Clair, he came to understand, 
That the great Mount Defiance they soon would 

fortify, 
He found that he must quit his lines, or every man 

must die. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 81 

July the fourth we had orders to retreat, 

And the next morning left our fort, Burgoyne he tho't 

us beat ; 
So closely they pursued us, 'twas nigh to Hubbarton ; 
Our rear guard they'd defeated, they tho't they'd 

gain'd renown. 

And when our congress came to hear that we our 

lines had left. 
And had retreated near to Albany to rest. 
Brave Gen. Gates they sent us our country to relieve. 
With shouts of acclamation of joy we him receiv'd. 

Burgoyne sent out a party of fifteen hundred men, 
Of Hessians and Canadians, came near to Benning- 
ton, 
With savages and Tories, our cattle for to steal, 
Commanded by a Tory, they call'd him Col. Skein. 

And when brave Gates came to hear of Col. Skein's 

conduct, 
Sent out a small party, his march for to obstruct ; 
They took all his artillery, and Skein his flight may 

mourn, 
'Twas out of fifteen hundred men but four hundred 

return'd. 

And when Burgoyne he came to hear that Skein did 

not succeed, 
With his army and artillery Burgoyne he did proceed. 
Thinking therefore to frighten us and make us fly ; 
But soon he found out his mistake, he found we'd 
sooner die. 

July the fourteenth, that morning being clear, 
Brave Gates unto his men did say, my boys be of 
good cheer, 



82 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

For Burgoyne, my lads, is advancing, and we will 

never fly, 
To maintain our country's rights, we'll fight until we 

die. 

And soon the news was brought us their army, it 

was near; 
And then, my boys, we met them, 'twas without dread 

or fear, 
And 'twas nigh unto Stillwater, and there about 

noon-day. 
And quick as you shall hear, my boys, began the 

bloody fray. 

We fought them full six hours, like valiant hearts of 

gold. 
Each party scorning to give way, we fought like lions 

bold. 
Until the leaves with blood are stained ; our generals 

they did cry ; 
It's diamonds cut diamonds, we'll fight until we die. 

Night came on, from our lines we did retreat, 

Which made the Britons for to think our army it was 

beat ; 
But early the next morning, we held before their eyes. 
As ready to engage again, which did them much 

surprise. 

Of fighting they seemed tired, to work they then 

did go, 
In burying of their dead men, entrenchments up did 

throw ; 
Thinking therefore with shot and shell our army to 

destroy, 
But brave Gates he gave such orders, he did them 

all defy ! 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 83 

At length our gracious Lord inspired our noble 

Gates' mind, 
To send out Gen. Arnold * to see if he could find 

*A bitter controversy has been carried on for the 
last few years as to whether General Arnold was 
an actual participant in the battle of September 
19th. After carefully weighing the arguments brought 
forward on both sides, I believe this to be the fact — 
viz., that while Arnold may not have been during 
the action itself actually on the battle-field in person 
(though this, even, is by no means proved), yet he was 
during the entire action close at hand, superintending 
and directing, under his own immediate eye, every 
manoeuvre of the different regiments, thus causing 
them to act as one harmonious whole. Hence, th^t 
in this sense he was a virtual and an active partici- 
pant in the battle of the 19th admits of no manner 
of doubt. Wilkinson, the only original authority on the 
American side who deprives Arnold of the credit of 
the success of the action, and who was, also, doubtless, 
the "informant" of Gordon & Marshall, is entirely 
worthless and tinreliable in all his statements whenever 
his jealousy (as in this case) is aroused, and hence 
should not for a moment be believed in this matter 
against the concurrent testimony of many of the 
survivors of that action, who, after death, left on record 
the statement that Arnold was an active participant 
in the battle. Among these is an order of General 
Riedesel, first given to the public in Hadden's 
"Journal and Orderly Book" (edited by General 
Rogers), upon which the editor comments as fol- 
lows : " Now, how Arnold could have observed these 
things on the part of his troops when, according to 
Wilkinson, he was 'calmly sitting on his horse a mile 



84 TJie Burgoyne Ballads. 

A passage thro' the enemy, and make them for to flee : 
Which quickly he obtained, and set his country free. 

and a half away from the action, it is very difficult to 
understand!'" Steadman, a most reliable authority 
also, states the fact that Arnold was in the action. 
But besides all this, the following, from an Orderly 
Book kept by Colonel Thaddeus Cook, of Walling- 
ford, Conn., now in possession of the American Anti- 
quarian Society of Worcester, Mass., should set the 
matter beyond all doubt, even to professional carpers 
and cavillers. Here it is : 

"Division Orders, 20th Sept., a.d. 1777. Genl. 
Arnold returns his thanks to the officers and soldiers 
of his division for their brave, spirited conduct yester- 
day, in withstanding the force of the whole British 
Army, whose loss a Deserter from their army says is 
upward of one thousand men killed and wounded — 
while ours is very trifling, not one fourth Part of the 
enemies — a convincing proof of the mercifull Inter- 
position of Heaven in covering our heads in the day 
of Battle, and loudly calls for our grateful! acknowledge- 
ments. 

" The Genl. observed yesterday that two many offi- 
cers that zeal and spirit pushed on in the front of 
their companies, whose business it was to have brought 
up those in the rear, and hopes they wiU in future ob- 
serve their proper stations and suffer no man to retreat 
until an order is given by the Commanding Officer of 
the Regts. on Detachments — those who are found to 
have deserted their posts in time of Action may ex- 
pect Instant Death. — 

"The Genl. makes no doubt the Troops will act with 
a spirit and firmness becoming free men strugling for 
their just Rights and Liberties when they are called out 



The Bui'goyne Ballads. 85 

And burning all their baggage, made off with haste 

and fear, 
And up to Saratoga, Burgoyne himself did steer ; 
Brave Gates, our bold commander, he after him did 

fly, 

Resolving for to take them all or every man must 
die. 

And soon we overtook them, it was nigh to Saratoga, 
A burning all the buildings as they went on the road. 
'Twas the 17th of October, they were obliged to 

capitulate, 
Burgoyne and his army, our prisoners they were 

made. 

Now to conclude my ditty, my song is at an end ; 

I hope no brave American will slight what I have 

penn'd, 
For our cause is just, in God we trust, therefore, my 

boys, don't fear, 
For brave Gates will clear America in less than one 

more year. 

Now here's a health to congress, and our commander 

Gates, 
To officers and soldiers, whom all the Tories hate, 
God prosper and succeed them, it's both by land and 

sea, 
Success to the brave Americans and sons of liberty. 



again, which they may expect every moment, and 
wishes them to make every necessary preparation." 

Now, how, in the face of this order, any one can say 
that Arnold was not an active participator in the action 
of the 19th passes comprehension. 



86 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

THE NORTH CAMPAIGN* 

A Song of Saratoga. 

Come unto me, ye heroes, 

Whose hearts are true and bold, 
Who value more your honor 

Than others do their gold ; 
Give ear unto my story, 

And I the truth will tell 
Concerning many a soldier 

Who for his country fell. 

Burgoyne, the king's commander. 

From Canada set sail 
With full eight thousand reg'lars, 

He thought he could not fail ; 
With Indians and Canadians, 

And his cursed tory crew, 
On board his fleet of shipping 

He up the Champlain flew. 

Before Ticonderoga, 

The first day of July, 
Appear'd his ships and army, 

And we did them espy. 

*This ballad was known during the Revolution as 
" The North Campaign," " Gates's Song," and "A Song 
for the Red-coats," and was for a long period sung 
throughout New England. It has been attributed to 
a private in Colonel Brooks's regiment and also to 
the author of "American Taxation." A portion of it is 
changed somewhat by the " wagoner" of Dr. Dwight's 
story. It would seem, however, that this is a mere 
paraphrase of " An Ancient Ditty," also published in 
this connection, though under a different title. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 87 

Their motions we observed 

Full well both night and day, 
And our brave boys prepared 

To have a bloody fray. 

Oiir garrison they viewed them, 

As straight their troops did land, 
And when St. Clair, our chieftain, 

The fact did understand 
That they the Mount Defiance 

Were bent to fortify. 
He found we must surrender. 

Or else prepare to die. 

The fifth day of July, then. 
He order'd a retreat,* 



* The semi-criticism here is most just. St. Clair, 
although a true patriot, erred most amazingly in not 
having Mount Defiance, or Sugar-Loaf Hill— as it was 
also called, from its resemblance to the old-fashioned 
loaves of sugar — fortified. Especially, too, was he great- 
ly blameworthy from the fact that the great importance 
of fortifying it had been long previously pointed out. 
Originally it had been supposed, and, in fact, had been 
taken for granted, that the crest of Sugar-Loaf Hill 
was not only inaccessible, but too distant to be of any 
avail in covering the main fortress — i.e., Fort Ticonder- 
oga. This opinion was, as said, an error, to which 
the attention of the officers stationed at Ticonderoga 
had been called the preceding year by Colonel John 
Trumbull, then adjutant-general for the Northern 
Department. When Colonel Trumbull made the 
suggestion, he was laughed at by the mess ; but he 
soon proved the accuracy of his own vision by throw- 
ing a cannon-shot to the summit, and subsequently 



8S The Burgoyne Ballads. 

And when next morn we started, 
Burgoyne thought we were beat. 

And closely he pursued us, 
Till when near Hubbardton, 

Our rear guards were defeated, 
He thought the country won. 

And when it was told in Congress, 

That we our forts had left, 
To Albany retreated, 

Of all the North bereft, 
Brave General Gates they sent us. 

Our fortunes to retrieve, 
And him with shouts of gladness 

The army did receive."^ 

clambered to the top, dragging a cannon after him, 
accompanied by Colonels Stevens, Wane, and Arnold. 
It was, in fact, a criminal neglect on the part of St. 
Clair, that the oversight was not at once corrected by 
the construction of a work upon that point, which 
would have commanded both the whole post and the 
surrounding country. St. Clair was tried afterward 
by a court-martial for evacuating Ticonderoga, but he 
was acquitted more on account of his tried patriotism 
than of his skilful management. Schuyler, also, had 
seen the necessity of occupying Mount Defiance, and 
had urgently requested from Congress re-enforcements 
for that purpose. — Conversations of the Author s 
Father with Colonel John Trtimbull. 

* In allusion to the fact that General Schuyler was 
most unjustly held in great odium by the New 
England troops — a fact which was the cause of his 
being superseded by Gates in the command, leaving 
Gates to reap the fruits of what Schuyler had, by his 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 89 

Where first the Mohawk's waters 

Do in the sunshine play, 
For Herkimer's brave soldiers 

Sellinger* ambush'd lay : 
And them he there defeated, 

But soon he had his due, 
And scaredf by Brooks and Arnold 

He to the North withdrew. 

To take the stores and cattle 

That we had gathered then, 
Burgoyne sent a detachment 

Of fifteen hundred men ; 

wonderful generalship, sown. The cause is not far to 
seek. Schuyler was a strict disciplinarian, and per- 
haps a little too autocratic and unapproachable by his 
privates. This manner the New Englanders greatly 
resented ; and in Gates, who, for motives of his own — 
which were to supplant even Washington himself — they 
found a person to listen to all their grievances. Hence 
Schuyler was most unjustly superseded, chiefly by 
the contemptible jealousy of Adams and other New 
Englanders in Congress. The same feeling of New 
England jealousy against the soldiers of New York 
and the South had, however, found expression years 
before during the campaign, in 1755, of Sir William 
Johnson against Dieskau. This contemptible jealousy 
had then been very nearly the cause of defeat. 

''^ St. Leger. 

f A man employed by the British as a spy was 
taken by Arnold, and at the suggestion of Colonel 
Brooks sent back to St. Leger with such deceptive 
accounts of the strength of the Americans as induced 
him to retreat toward Montreal. 



90 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

By Baum they were commanded, 
To Bennington they went ; 

To plunder and to murder 
Was fully their intent. 

But little did they know then 

With whom they had to deal ; 
It was not quite so easy 

Our stores and stock to steal ; 
Bold Stark would give them only 

A portion of his lead : 
With half his crew ere sunset 

Baum lay among the dead. 

The nineteenth of September, 

The morning cool and clear, 
Brave Gates rode through our army, 

Each soldier's heart to cheer : 
" Burgoyne," he cried, " advances, 

But we will never fly ; 
No — rather than surrender, 

We'll fight him till we die." 

The news was quickly brought us. 

The enemy was near, 
And all along our lines then 

There was no sign of fear ; 
It was above Stillwater 

We met at noon that day, 
And every one expected 

To see a bloody fray. 

Six hours the battle lasted, 
Each heart was true as gold. 

The British fought like lions, 
And we like Yankees bold ; 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 91 

The leaves with blood were crimson, 
And then brave Gates did cry — 

"Tis diamond now cut diamond ! 
We'll beat them, boys, or die."* 

The darkness soon approaching. 

It forced us to retreat 
Into our lines till morning, 

Which made them think us beat ; 
But ere the sun was risen. 

They saw before their eyes 
Us ready to engage them, 

Which did them much surprise. 

Of fighting they seem'd weary. 

Therefore to work they go 
Their thousand dead to bury, 

And breastworks up to throw : 
With grape and bombs intending 

Our army to destroy. 
Or from our works our forces 

By stratagem decoy. 

The seventh day of October 

The British tried again, 
Shells from their cannon throwing, 

Which fell on us like rain, 
To drive us from our stations 

That they might thus retreat ; 
For now Burgoyne saw plainly 

He never us could beat. 



* This of course is " bosh," or, perhaps, we may 
charitably call it "poetical license," as Gates acted in 
both actions the roll of a coward. See my " Bur- 
goyne's Campaign." 



92 The JBurgoyne Ballads. 

But vain was his endeavor 

Our men to terrify ; 
Though death was all around us, 

Not one of us would fly. 
But when an hour we'd fought them, 

And they began to yield, 
Along our lines the cry ran, 

" The next blow wins the field." 

Great God who won their battles, 

Whose cause is just and true, 
Inspired our bold commander 

The course he should pursue. 
He order'd Arnold forward. 

And Brooks* to follow on ; 
The enemy were routed, 

Our liberty was won ! 

Then, burning all their luggage, 

They fled with haste and fear, 
Burgoyne with all his forces 

To Saratogue did steer ; 
And Gates our brave commander, 

Soon after him did hie. 
Resolving he would take them 

Or in the eff'ort die. 



*John Brooks, governor of Massachusetts, born in 
Medford, Mass., May 31st, 1752; died March ist, 1825. 
He assisted in fortifying Breed's Hill. In the second 
battle of Saratoga, on October 7th, he stormed and 
carried the German intrenchments at the head of 
his regiment. He greatly assisted Baron Steuben in 
his tactics, and was a very valued officer of the Revo- 
lution. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 93 

As we came nigh the village, 

We overtook the foe ; 
They'd burned each house to ashes, 

Like all where'er they go. 
The seventeenth of October, 

They did capitulate ; 
Burgoyne and his proud army 

Did we our pris'ners make. 

Now here's a health to Arnold; 

And our commander Gates ; 
To Lincoln"^ and to Washington, 

Whom ev'ry Tory hates ; 
Likewise unto our Congress, 

God grant it long to reign, 
Our Country, Right and Justice 

For ever to maintain. 

Now finish'd is my story, 

My song is at end ; 
The freedom we're enjoying 

We're ready to defend ; 
For while our cause is righteous, 

Heaven nerves the soldier's arm. 
And vain is their endeavor 

Who strive to do us harm. 



THE CARPET KNIGHT. 

By Joseph SxANSBURY.f 

Late a council of gods from their heavenly abodes 
Were call'd on Olympus to meet; 

* General Lincoln behaved bravely in this battle; 
and to him is due the credit of creating a diversion in 
favor of Gates by his assault on Ticonderoga. 

f Joseph Stansbury, merchant, born in England in 



94: The Burgoyne Ballads. 

Jove gave his commands from his throne in the 
clouds : 

Attend, and his words I'll repeat. 
Ye know, all ye pow'rs that attend my high throne, 

Your will to my pleasure must bow ; 
I will that those gifts which you prize as your own 

Shall now be bestowed on my Howe. 

Astrcsa, who long since had quitted the earth. 

Presented her balance and sword ; 
The honors derived from titles and birth 

By Juno were instant conferred ; 

1750; died in New York City in 1809. Emigrating 
to Philadelphia, he became an importing merchant, and 
held a high position as a man of integrity and an up- 
right and high-minded citizen. In 1776 he was im- 
prisoned in Burlington, N. J., for having sung in his 
house "God Save the King." He was again, in 1780, 
imprisoned by the Whigs in Philadelphia. Upon his 
liberation his property was restored, and with his family 
he resided in New York during the remainder of the 
war, but returned to Philadelphia in 1785, after a brief 
residence in Nova Scotia. Threatened again in that city 
with violence, he gave up his former occupation and, 
removing to New York, became secretary of an insur- 
ance company. He wrote in support of the crown, 
and his verses were edited by Winthrop Sargent, 
under the title of " Stansbury's and Odell's Loyal 
Verses" (Munsell, Albany, i860) — verses which at the 
time they were first written obtained considerable 
popularity among the adherents of the crown. The 
date of this song, says Mr. Sargent, seems to be De- 
cember 24th, 1777, shortly after Howe's return to 
Philadelphia, from his idle attempt to surprise Wash- 
ington's army at Whitemarsh. 



The BiLrgoyne Ballads. 95 

Fierce Marsg-^Y^ his chariot ; gay Hermes his wand ; 

Alcides, his club and his bow ; 
Sweet Peace with her oHve-branch graced his hand ; 

And Venus herself did bestow. 

Thus enrich'd with such gifts as the gods can impart 

The hero by Jove was address'd ; 
As you wish to reclaim each American heart, 

Let justice preside in your breast; 
Exhibit the blessings of order and peace 

As wide as your conquests shall spread ; 
Let your promise be sacred— rebellion shall cease, 

And the laurel shall bloom round your head. 

I know that fell Discord, your zeal to oppose, 

Will nourish Sedition and Hate ; 
Mistakes may occur, and friends suffer with foes ; 

Yet your wish is confirmed by fate. 
Sweet Peace shall revive from the horrors of war, 

Her empire again be restor'd ; 
Affection and duty shall cover each scar, 

And Howe by the world be ador'd ! 

Now with shame must the muse the sad sequel display ; 

With sorrow, and shame, and surprise : 
The gifts Q>iAstrcEa he lost by the way, 

And her fillet he plac'd o'er his eyes. 
The arms oi A hides he sent to Burgoyne, 

And with them the chariot of Mars ; 
For what but assistance and weapons divine 

Could finish such Quixotic wars .? 

Hermes' wand was now useless ; no snakes would 
unite f 



* Perhaps^ in allusion to the broken snake, with the 
motto " Unite or die," so much in vogue at the time 



96 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

The olive in vain was display'd ; 
For blessings no longer attended the fight, 
And loyalty fled from its shade. 



as a patriotic device. John Holt, editor of the New 
York Journal or General Advertiser, a stanch friend 
of the Whigs in 1774, discarded the king's arms from 
the title of his paper, and substituted in place of it a 
serpent, cut in pieces, with the expressive motto, 
"Unite or die." In January, 1775, the snake was 
united and coiled, with the tail in his mouth, forming a 
double ring. On the body of the snake, beginning at 
the head, were the following lines : 

" United now, alive and free, 
Firm on this basis Liberty shall stand ; 
And thus supported ever bless our land 
Till time becomes eternity." 

The designs both of 1774 and 1775 were excellent 
— the first, by a visible illustration, showing the dis- 
jointed state of the colonies, and the second present- 
ing an emblem of their strength when united. Holt 
maintained his integrity to the last. When the British 
took possession of New York, he removed to ^sopus 
(now Kingston, N. Y.) and revived his paper. On the 
burning of that village by the British, in 1777, he re- 
moved to Poughkeepsie, and published the journal 
there until the peace of 1783, when he returned to New 
York. Holt was an unflinching patriot — very dif- 
ferent in this respect from his contemporary editor, 
James Rivington, who turned his coat to suit every 
change of mind, but did not long survive the achieve- 
ment of his country's freedom, having fallen a victim 
to the yellow fever in 1 798. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 97 

The gifts sent to Burgoyne return'd to the skies — 

Despairing he yielded his arms ; 
And fair Venus, disgusted, beheld with surprise 

A mortal preferr'd to her charms * • 



THE CHURCH AND KING CLUB.f 
By Joseph Stansbury. 

Come, honest Tories, a truce with your politics ; 

Hoc age tells you in Latin as much ; 
Drink and be merry and — a melancholy, nix ! 

'Tis de same ting, do I speaks it in Dutch. 

* The mortal whose charms were preferred, accord- 
ing to the song, to those of Venus herself, was probably 
a married lady from Jamaica Plains, near Boston, who 
is named in the same connection, but in rather broader 
phrase, by Francis Hopkinson, in his " Battle of the 
Kegs." 

f Written by Stansbury, apparently in the latter part 
of 1778, for a festive meeting of a loyal association. 
Such associations as the Church and King Club, 
says Mr. Sargent, were not of unusual occurrence 
with the Loyalists. They were generally designed to 
bring together at the festive board a party of men 
whose political sentiments were in unison — similar, in 
fact, to the Union League Club (Republican) and 
the Manhattan (Democratic) of New York City. 
In this instance, the members were probably Philadel- 
phians, who had followed the royal standard to New 
York. The phrase, " Tis all the same in Dutch," was 
probably a local expression arising from the numbers 
of German settlers in Pennsylvania. 



08 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

If old Diogenes lov'd altercation, 

Had he, sir, a drop of good wine in his tub ? 

Mirth and good humor is ou7'- occupation ; 

Let this be the rule of the Church and King Club. 

Well do we know the Adelphi's miscarriages, 
And the disasters of Johnny Burgoyne ; 

As to beefsteaks, no good fellow disparages 
One who in battles finds leisure to dine'^ 

Congo pretends (O good Lord, what a fibber 'tis !) 
Now to feel bold, and to fear no mischance; 

As well might he say that he fights ybr their liberties 
Whom he hath sold in a mortgage to France !f 

* This is undoubtedly in allusion both to Burgoyne 
supping merrily with his mistress just before his sur- 
render and while his army were in great distress for 
food (see Stone's " Memoirs of Mrs. General Riedesel," 
Munsell, Albany, N. Y.), and to his dinner with General 
Gates immediately after the capitulation. 

f It was frequently declared at this period by the 
advocates of England that the American Congress 
had given secretly some sort of a lien upon a part of 
the American territories to France, as a security for 
the assistance afforded us by that power. There was 
probably no truth in this report, though this cannot 
be said positively, in view of the fact that documents 
are yet unquestionably to be discovered in the French 
archives. Theexultationsof the Americans, and of Con- 
gress in particular, were, however, naturally and justi- 
fiably, as after events proved, very great at the prospects 
of the results to flow from the alliance with France 
whicht he Confederation had now entered into. The 
first anniversary of the day on which the treaty was 
signed was celebrated by a banquet given by Congress 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 

Soon shall you see a rebdlioMs minority 
Blush for the part they have acted so long; 

Britain shall rouse and regain her authority*^ ' 
Come then, a bumper and call t'other song. 

If old Diogenes lov'd altercation, etc. 



99 



SATIRICAL VERSES IN HONOR OF SIR 
JOHN BURGOYNE.* 

Patente de Lord-Duc pour John Burgoyne. 

Nous, le Parlement d'Angleterre, 
Souverain par mer and par terre 
D'Empereurs, Rois and Potentats, 
Corsaires, insulaires, and soubas, 
A tous Rois, Etats monarchiques 
Margraves, Electeurs, Republiques 



to the French mmister, at which the King and Queen 
of France, the King of Spain and all the princes of 
the House of Bourbon were formally toasted amid 
salvos of artillery. On May 8th, 1778, Congress had 
issued an address to the people, in which the certaintv 
of victory over England was proclaimed, and a vivid 
picture given of the prosperity which would then 
attend the destinies of the United States— a picture as 
the result proved,not overdrawn. 

* Extract from " Correspon dance secrete politique 
et litt^raire ou m^moires pour servir a Fhistoire des 
cours,des soci^tes et de la litt^rature en France, depuis 
la mort de Loms XV. Tome Cinquieme, pp. ^i-^. 

This work, - Correspondance secrete," according to 
A'.^l ' Dictionnaire des ouvrages anonymes," was 
edited by Metra and others. 



100 The JBurgoynelBallads. 

Salut N'ayant rien plus ^ cceur 
Que de combler de biens, d'honneur. 
Tous ceux qui par action belle, 
Se couvrent de gloire immortelle, 
Ayant a toutes bonnes fins 
Examine tous les bultins 
Qui sont venus de I'Amerique 
Et autres lieux rimans en ique: 
Ayant enfin oui le rapport 
Present^ par Suffolk and Nort 
Sur les hauts faits de Jean Burgoyne 
Voulons que ce grand Capitaine 
Dont on veut d6nigrer le nom, 
En le traitant de fanfaron, 
Soit accorde toute justice ; 
Et pour confondre la malice 
De Burke and Pitt ses ennemis 
Et d'autres tortueux esprits ; 
Mandons k notre secretaire 
D'expedier en beau caractere 
A ce General fameux 
Brevets and titres glorieux 
Pour r^tablir sa renommee 
Fort injustement attaquee 
En maints lieux and pays divers 
Tant d^ga que del^ les mers. 

A ces causes, par ces pr^sentes 
Authentiques lettres-patentes.; 
Nous and le Roi, nous le nommons 
Due and Milord de Bennington : 
Permettons qu'en ses armoiries 
Pour supports soient deux batteries 
Des canons qu' a Saratoga 
Ce g^n^ral abandonna. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 101 

En faisant si belle retraite, 

Quand son arm^e fut defaite 

Par ces insurgens, ces poltrons 

Et ces Frangois vrais fanfarons 

Qui n'auront jamais en partage 

De nos AUemands le courage, 

N'en deplaise au comte Turpin 

Qui Tun de nous, provoque en vain . . . 

Ayant le tout consid^r6 

Et murement deliber^ 

Avons, sous le grand sceau de cire 

Et le cachet de notre Sire, 

Exp^die le present brevet 

De Due Pair, meme Baronnet 

Pour le General Jean Burgoyne, 

Signe Bute, Nort and Germaine 

Trente Janvier avant minuit 

Mil sept cent soixante dix-huit. 

Translation of the above by Bauman L. Belden* 

Patent of Lord Duke Burgoyne. 

WE, the Parliament of England, 
Sovereign over sea and land, — 

* Bauman L. Belden, litterateur, born in Brooklyn, 
N. Y., November 23d, 1862. Studied at New Bruns- 
wick, N. J. His great-great-grandfather, on the ma- 
ternal side, was Colonel Sebastian Bauman. Colonel 
Bauman served through the Revolution as major in 
Colonel Lamb's regiment of artillery, and ^ at the 
evacuation of New York by the Americans, in 1776, 
was the last officer to leave the city. In October, 
1 789, he was appointed postmaster of New York City, 
which position he held until his death, October 19th, 



102 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

Over emperors and over kings 
And potentates most grand, 

And islanders and devils 

And the rovers of the seas — 
To all kings, margraves, electors, 

Republics and monarchies. 

Greeting / 

Our hearts' desire being to reward 

All who, amid war's alarms, 
Have won immortal glory 

By splendid feats of arms. 

And having well examined 

All the bulletins which came 
From America, and countries 

Too numerous to name, 

And having also heard reports, 

From Suffolk and from North, 
Of the mighty deeds of John Burgoyne, 

That soldier of great worth, 

And v^ishing this great captain — 

Whose fame they seek to dim, 
By calling him a boaster — 

Should have justice done to him, 

1803. As might be inferred from his ancestry, Mr. 
Belden takes great interest in all matters pertaining 
to our Revolutionary history. He is (1893) librarian 
of the American Numismatic and Archaeological So- 
ciety, and resides at Elizabeth, N. J. The reader, es- 
pecially one acquainted with the French idiom, cannot 
fail to see how admirably this ballad has been rendered 
into English by Mr. Belden. Each shade of thought 
is preserved, while the feet of the verses is almost exact. 



The Burgoyne Ballads, 103 

And to confound the malice 

Of his foes, Pitt and Burke, 
And other crooked spirits 

Who his ruin seek to work. 

Now therefore, our secretary 

We do herewith command 
To send a beautiful parchment, 

With brevets and titles grand, 

To this most famous general, 

That thereby his fair fame 
May be fully re-established, 

And honors crown his name. 

His fame unjustly was attacked 

In very many places, 
As well here as beyond the sea 

They covered it with disgraces. 

For these reasons, by these presents — 

Honors he has fairly won — 
We, and the King, do hereby name him 

Lord and Duke of Bennington. 

And also on his coat of arms, 

The supporters to the shield, 
Shall be two batteries of cannon, 

Left on Saratoga's field — ^ 



^' This is about as keen and delightful a piece 
of satire as we have ever chanced to meet with, es- 
pecially the permission of the patenters, Bute, etc., to 
Burgoyne, who is here dubbed " Duke of Bennington," 
to use as supporters on his coat of arms the two bat- 



104 The Burgoyne Ballads, 

Abandoned by this famous general 

In that beautiful retreat, 
When his brave and splendid army 

Suffered such a dire defeat 

At the hands of those French braggarts, 
Those rebels, cowards and poltroons, 

Who have not a portion of the courage 
Of our brave German dragoons. 

So, after mature consideration 
We have made this matter plain. 

Nor should this displease Count Turpin,* 
Whom one of us provoked in vain.f 

Under our Sires' great waxen seal, 
We hereby confirm the brevet 

Of the great John Burgoyne, 
Duke, Peer and even Baronet. 

Signed. — Bute, North, Germaine, 
Thirtieth of January — very late — 

Just before midnight 

Seventeen hundred and seventy-eight. 



teries of cannon captured by the Americans at Sara- 
toga. These bronze cannon, by the way, have, by an act 
of Congress, lately been loaned to the trustees of the 
Saratoga Monument, to be placed at the base of the 
monument. 

^' The famous highwayman. 

f The point of this allusion is not plain. However 
this is the literal translation. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 105 

Part of an old Song sung by the Wagoners 
OF Gates's Army for many years after the 
Battles of Saratoga. From Dr. Dwight's 
*' Northern Traveller."* 

That the great Mount Defiance 

They soon would fortify : — 
We found that we must quit our lines, 

Or ev'ry man must die. 

Which soon we did in haste perform, 

And went to Sarritoag, 
A burning all the buildings 

We found along the road. 

'Twas then the gen'rous thought inspir'd 

The noble Gates's mind, 
For to send out Gin'ral Arnold, 

To see if he could find 

A passage through the inimy, 

Wherever he might be ; 
Which soon he did accomplish, 

And set the country free. 



* Dr. Dwight tells us that once, while travelling by 
stage from Caldwell to Ticonderoga, he heard the 
driver, an old wagoner in Gates's army, sing the above 
song, these four verses being all that Dr. Dwight 
remembered. These verses are, however, but an 
adulterated form of the ballad on "The North 
Campaign," elsewhere given. 



106- TJie Burgoyne Ballads. 

THE RESTORED CAPTIVE. 

{An incident of the Burgoyne Campaign?) 
By Colonel William L. Stone* 

In yonder sylvan dale, 

The hills and woods among, 

Bright as the fairest vale 
The poets e'er have sung, 

* William Leete Stone, a distinguished American 
journalist and author, was born at New Paltz, Ulster 
County, N. Y., April 20th, 1792, and died at Saratoga 
Springs, N. Y., August 15th, 1844. His wife was a sis- 
ter of President Wayland, of Brown University, and a 
daughter of the Rev. Francis Wayland, the pioneer 
minister of the Baptist Church at Saratoga Springs. 
When a child, his father removed into the valley of the 
Susquehanna, and subsequently to Sodus, N. Y., on the 
shore of Lake Ontario. The son received from the 
father thorough instruction in Latin and Greek — the 
latter having himself graduated with high honor at Yale 
— and at the age of seventeen entered the newspaper 
ofhce of Colonel Prentiss, at Cooperstown, N. Y., to 
learn the printer's trade, and soon began to write 
newspaper paragraphs. In 18 13 he became the editor 
of the Herkimer American, subsequently editing po- 
litical newspapers at Hudson, Albany and Hartford 
— in the latter town succcedinor- Theodore Dwig^ht 
in the editorship of the Hartford Mirror. In the 
spring ofi82i he became editor and one of the propri- 
etors of the New York Commercial Advertiser, which 
position he retained until his death. Though possessing 
decided ability as a political writer, " Colonel" Stone 



The Biirgoyne Ballads. 107 

Where Hudson's silver tide 

Adorns the fairy scene, 
Rejoicing in his pride, 

'Mid groves forever green ; 
There, dark as clouds of night, 

The lurking savage came, 
With hatchet burnished bright. 

And torch of lurid flame ; 
To wake with horrid yell 

The hamlet's sweet repose 
By deeds no tongue can tell, 

The deeds of savage foes ! 

(as he was always called, from having held that rank 
on the military staff of his intimate personal and po- 
litical friend, Governor De Witt Clinton) preferred 
literary pursuits to partisanship. In 1825 he was ap- 
pointed by the corporation of New York City to 
write "The Narrative of the Grand Erie Canal Cele- 
bration." His short stories, written for the differ- 
ent annuals of the United States and England, were 
subsequently collected and published in two volumes, 
under the title of •' Tales and Sketches." " Ups and 
Downs in the Life of a Distressed Gentleman" 
(1836), a satirical novel on the follies of the day, 
was very successful. Among his more elaborate 
works were : " Letters on Masonry and Anti-Ma- 
sonry" (New York, 1832), " Border Wars of the Am- 
erican Revolution" (2 vols., 1834), " Matthias and 
his Impostures" (1835), "The Life of Maria Monk" 
(1832), "The Life of Joseph Brant, Thayendanegea" 
(2 vols., Cooperstown, 1838), " Life and Times of Red 
Jacket" (New York, 1840), "The Poetry and History 
of Wyoming" (Wiley & Putnam, 1840), and " Uncas 
and Miantonomah" (1842). He was the first super- 



108 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

II. 

The war-whoop, shrill and wild, 

Through darkest gloom was heard ; 
The mother clasped her child,* 

The father grasped his sword ; 
But ere the morning's dawn. 

The cruel work was o'er : 
The dusky foe was gone. 

The vale was steep'd in gore. 
The dying and the dead, 

Were strew'd along the plain, 
And fewer those who fled, 

Than those among the slain ; 
And loud the plaintive cry. 

Broke on the saddened ear, 
With many a heaving sigh. 

And many a scalding tear. 

intendent of public schools of the city of New 
York, and his great controversy with Archbishop 
Hughes, in regard to the reading of the Bible in 
the public schools of that city, will long be remem- 
bered, the last letter to whom, occupying six col- 
umns in the Commercial Advertiser, was written by 
him, by dictation, on his death-bed but a week before 
his decease. At the time of his death he was engaged 
upon a life of Sir William Johnson, which was com- 
pleted by his son, WilHam L. Stone, Jr. The above 
MS., written about 1819, was found by his son among 
his unpublished ms. after his death. 

* In this connection the reader is referred to the 
alto rilievo in the Saratoga Monument at Schuylerville, 
N. Y., " Burgoyne reprimanding the Indians for their 
barbarities," for the picture of the mother holding her 
babe to her breast — on which this ballad is founded. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 109 

III. 

With throbbing bosoms there, 

Amid the field of blood, 
Engaged in silent prayer. 

Full many a woman stood, 
With swimming eyes, disturb'd, 

Transfixed as by a spell, 
The maiden smote her breast. 

With grief she could not tell. 
A mother, there was one, 

A widow — and she wept 
Her darling infant son, 

That in the cradle slept : 
The babe, the eve before. 

Had sweetly sunk to rest, 
Alas ! to smile no more 

Upon a mother's breast. 

IV. 

But see ! what form is there 

Thus bounding from the wood. 
Like panther from his lair. 

Back on the trail of blood : - 
A chieftain by his mien, 

Of noble form is he ; 
A prouder ne'er was seen. 

In chase o'er dell and lea. 
Swift as the arrow's flight. 

He speeds his course along, 
With eye of burning light, 

To reach the weeping throng. 
And o'er his eagle crest, 

A banner white he waves, 



110 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

As though to make request 
Of good intent he craves. 

V. 

Wrapped in his blanket warm, 

Loose o'er his shoulder flung, 
Yet guarded safe from harm, 

A lovely infant hung. 
On, on with breathless strife, 

The warrior held his way. 
Quick at the mother's side, 

Her own lost infant lay ! 
The babe look'd up and smiled * 

And sweet the thrill of joy, 
As now with transports wild. 

She clasped her darling boy ; 
While rapid as the light, 

The warrior leaped the flood, 
Sprang swiftly from their sight, 

And vanished in the wood! 

*Some reader may recall a similar line in "The 
Snow Storm," by, I believe, Hawthorne : " The babe 
looked up and sweetly smiled." But as this ballad 
was written by Colonel Stone when Hawthorne w^as a 
mere lad, no one will suspect plagiarism. 



BALLADS ON THE DEATH OF GENERAL ERASER. 



THE DEATH AND BURIAL OF GENERAL 

ERASER. 

By way of explanation of the many allusions in the 
following ballads, a short sketch of General Eraser and 
the circumstances of his burial may not be inappro- 
priate. 

Simon Eraser, British soldier, born in 1729 ; died in 
Saratoga, N. Y., October 8th, 1777. He was the 
youngest son of Alexander Eraser, of Baluaire and 
Glendo, of the Lovat family, by a daughter of Angus 
Mackintosh, of Kellady, from whom the celebrated 
Sir James Mackintosh was directly descended. He 
entered the army at an early age, and after several 
promotions became lieutenant-colonel July 14th, 1768. 
He served with distinction in Holland and Germany, 
was in the expedition against Louisburg, and accom- 
panied General Wolfe to Quebec. He was afterward 
stationed in Ireland, whence he embarked for America 
with the Twenty-fourth Regiment, April 5th, 1776, ar- 
riving at Quebec May 28th of that year. He assisted 
in driving the Americans out of Canada in 1776, and 
was in command of the severely contested engage- 
ment at Three Rivers. Having acquired a high repu- 
tation for judgment and cool daring, he was selected 
by Burgoyne to command the light brigade, which 
formed the right wing of the British army. He thus 



112 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

was constantly in the advance, rendering most efficient 
service ; and had his advice been followed, the blunder 
of advancing on Bennington with heavily mounted 
dragoons, on an expedition requiring the greatest 
celerity of movement, would never have been com- 
mitted. After the evacuation of Ticonderoga he pur- 
sued the retreating Americans under St. Clair, and, 
assisted by his German ally, General Riedesel, gained 
a signal victory at Hubbardton, July 7th, 1777. He 
opened the battle of September 19th by engaging 
Morgan's skirmishers ; and in the action of October 
7th was shot and mortally wounded by "Tim" Mur- 
phy, one of Morgan's riflemen, in obedience to special 
instructions from that officer.* During the succeed- 
ing night he was tenderly ministered to by the Baro- 
ness Riedesel, who did all in her power to alleviate his 
sufferings, and at eight o'clock on the following morn- 
ing he died. As he lay dying he was heard frequently 
to exclaim : "Oh, fatal ambition ! Oh, my poor wife ! 
Oh, poor General Burgoyne !" He was buried at sun- 
set, according to his special request, on a knoll over- 
looking the Hudson River, on which was a battery, 
Chaplain Brudenell officiating. His remains were at- 
tended to the grave at six o'clock in the evening by 
the general officers ; and the funeral scene is described 
by Burgoyne, in his " State of the Expedition," and 
by other contemporaneous writers, as unusually sol- 
emn, impressive, and awful, by the voice of the chap- 
lain being accompanied by constant peals from the 
American artillery, and the cannon-shot which flew 
thick around and near the funeral cortege as it was 
ascending the hill. This fire, however, ceased imme- 

* For an original sketch of Murphy, see Appendix 
No. IV. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 113 

diately as soon as the nature of the gathering was 
known. 

To Burgoyne the loss of Fraser was a severe blow ; 
and contemporary military writers affirm that, had he 
lived, the British would have made good their retreat 
into Canada. Certain it is that had Fraser lived to 
give his advice to Burgoyne — and it would undoubt- 
edly have been taken — the latter would have avoided 
the blunders he made, which was the cause of his sur- 
render. Riedesel, it is true, advised the same course 
which Fraser would have done had he lived. But ad- 
vice from Riedesel — whom, as a German ally, Bur- 
goyne never liked — would have been a very different 
thing from Burgoyne's loved friend, Fraser. 

It was said of Fraser that he had always shown as 
great skill in conducting a retreat as bravery in lead- 
ing an attack, having, during the Seven Years' War, 
brought off in safety five hundred chasseurs in sight of 
the French army. General Fraser's temperament was 
warm, open, and communicative, but reserved in mat- 
ters of confidence. Burgoyne paid him a touching 
tribute in his " Narrative," and in his report to Lord 
George Germaine, dated Albany, October 20th, 1777, 
said : "■ The extensive merits which marked the public 
and private character of Brigadier-General Fraser will 
long remain upon the memory of this army and make 
his loss a subject of particular regret." Fraser mar- 
ried, in 1769, Mrs. Grant, of London, who survived 
him, and who, in 1 781,. married at Edinburgh an ad- 
vocate named George Buchan Hepburn. The state- 
ment that the remains of General Fraser were removed 
to England after the Revolution is without foundation. 
For more about Fraser, see Stone's " Burgoyne's Cam- 
paign" and General Rope's " Hadden's Journal," both 
published by Munsell's Sons, Albany, N. Y. In " Bur- 



114 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

goyne's Campaign" will be found an interesting ac- 
count of the death of Fraser, with reflections on that 
event, written by Professer Lilliman during the night 
he stopped in the house where Fraser died. 



THE BURIAL OF GEN. FRASER. 

Read before the Annual Meeting of the Sara- 
toga Monument Association, 1874, by 
E. W. B. Canning, Esq. 

On Saratoga's crimsoned field, 

When battle's volleyed roar was done, 
Mild autumn's mellow light revealed 

The glories of the setting sun. 
On furrow, fence and tree that bear 

The iron marks of battling men, 
The radiance burneth calm and fair. 

As tho' earth aye had sinless been. 
The gory sods, all scathed and scarred. 

And piled in trenched mounds declare 
That mutual foeman, fallen, marred, 

Have found a final bivouac there. 
And list ! from yonder bulwarked height 

The faint-heard martial signals come: 
For those who keep the watch to-night 

Are gathering at the evening drum. 

So, Saratoga, lay thy field 

When freedom, 'mid the shock of steel, 
Made Britain's rampant lion yield. 

And crushed his terrors 'neath her heel. 
Proudly the freeman points to thee, 

And speaks thy unforgotten name ; 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 115 

While on her page bright history 

For children's children writes thy fame. 

As the last sunbeam kissed the trees 

That sighed amid its dying glow, 
Borne softly on the evening breeze 

Floated the soldier's note of woe. 
From out the Briton's guarded lines, 

With wailing fife and muffled drum, 
While gleaming gold with scarlet shines, 

A band of mourning warriors come. 
With arms reversed, all sad and slow, 

And measured tread of martial men. 
Forth on their lengthened path they go, 

But not to wake the strife again. 
No plunging haste of battles there, 

No serried ranks or bristhng lines ; 
No furious coursers headlong bear 

Their riders where the death flash shines. 
The pennon is the soldiers' pall, . 

The battery for the bier is changed, 
And plumes of nodding sable all 

On chieftains' brows are round it ranged. 
The noblest leader of the host 

They carry to his dreamless sleep ; 
The heart of British hope is lost, 

And vain the tears that Britons weep. 
Thine arm of valor, proud Burgoyne, 

Is paralyzed for ever now ; 
While sorrow-stricken comrades join 

Fondly to wreathe dead Fraser's brow. 

On yonder hill that skirts the plain, 
A lone redoubt with haste upraised 



116 Tke Burgoyne Ballads. 

O'erlooks around the trampled grain, 

Where oft the dying hero gazed. 
" Bury me there at set of sun," 

(His latest words of ebbing life) 
" Tis mine to see no triumph won, 

Or mingle with the final strife. 
If gloom awaits our path of fame, 

I die before the ill befalls ; 
These ears shall tingle not with shame. 

Nor longer list when glory calls. 
At set of sun, in yon redoubt. 

Lay me to rest as rest the brave." 
The flickering lamp of Hfe went out. 

And strangers' land must yield a grave. 

Slowly in mournful march they wend 

Their upward pathway to the tomb ; 
Unwittingly the foemen send 

Their shots around amid the gloom.* 
They reach the height, commit their trust. 

And reverent all uncovered stand ; 
While booming shots updash the dust 

In clouds about the listening band. 
Robed and with dignity serene, 

The man of God reads calmly on ; 



* This refers to the shots which were at first sent 
by the Americans at the funeral cortege which was 
ascending the hill to bury General Fraser. Although 
it has often been explained that the Americans, as 
soon as they ascertained that the procession was to the 
funeral of Fraser, ceased ai oitce to fire on the party, 
yet by prejudiced EngHsh historians this fiction has 
still been kept up. See preceding note. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 117 

No terror marks his quiet mien, 

As hoarse responds the distant jjun. 
" Earth to earth and dust to dust:" 

Thus the solemn accents fall ; 
Each receives her precious trust, 

Evening saddens over all. 
Pile the mound ; no living form 

Nobler soul enshrines than he, 
Now bequeathed the darkling worm — 

Pride of Albion's chivalry ! 
All is done : there wait for thee. 

Fallen chief, no more alarms ; 
But thy peers anon must see 

Hapless "field of grounded arms." 



Years have trolled their changes by ; 

Harvests oft have robed the plain ; 
And the leafy honors high 

Sigh no more above the slain. 
Sons of sires who in the black, 

Doleful days of '77 
Rolled the tide of battle back, 

Seeking hope and strength in Heaven, 
Wondering tread the storied ground. 

And with glowing accents tell 
How their fathers victory found, 

And the spot where Eraser fell. 
Gallant chieftain, nobler song 

Ought to speak thy honored name ; 
But our sons remembering long, 

Worthier tribute pay thy fame ! 



118 The Burgoyrie Ballads. 

THE BURIAL OF GENERAL ERASER, 

At Sunset, October 8, 1777. 
By E. W. B. Canning. 

[Dedicated to the trustees of the Saratoga Monument associationj] 

There was mourning at the eventide that sad October 

day, 
There was mourning in the camp wherein the hosts of 

Britain lay ; 
For the sun that glanced so proudly on their bayonets 

at dawn 
Behind the ling'ring battle clouds of rout and wreck 

had gone. 

As the stern sergeant's tones, amid the day's decline, 
Called the thinned muster roll along the martial line, 
How eloquent the silence fell, and, ah ! how frequent ! 

when 
A comrade's name was spoken who should answer 

not again ! 

But deeper gloom than wont befell when battle's 

crash was o'er, 
For he who led the foremost ranks should lead them 

nevermore — 
The leader round whose knightly brows the oak and 

laurel join — 
The bravest chieftain of the brave — the right arm of 

Burgoyne. 

" Bury me" — said the hero, as the spark of life went 

out — 
" At sunset, where your banner waves above the 

* Great Redoubt'; 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 119 

Believe my soul is with you yet, and be my memory 
Still cherished in your valiant hearts whate'er the end 
may be." 

And in the misty gloaming went a sad procession 

forth, 
With solemn step and muffled drums and thoughts of 

fallen worth, 
While foeman's guns, unwittingly, upon the hills afar 
Roared out, amid the gathering gloom, the thunder 

tones of war. 

And as the mournful multitude the yawning grave 

surround. 
Fiercely the iron messengers updash the sodded 

ground : 
But not a coward cheek was blanched ; no hurried 

word was said 
Of service due the holy man rehearsed above the dead. 

So laid they gallant Fraser in his chosen place to rest. 
And warriors' tears bedewed the sod that hid his 

manly breast. 
Peace to the ashes of the brave ! For him no more 

alarms, 
No grief, anon, of comrades on "The Field of Grounded 

Arms." 

THE BURIAL OF GENERAL FRASER. 

By Lura a. Boies."^ 

He fell, the bold hero! low lay the proud form 
That braved the red wrath of the battle's wild storm. 



* Lura A. Boies, daughter of Jerome and Hannah 
G. (Gillette) Boies, was born in the town of Moreau, 



120 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

When dark hung the cloud of the furious fray 
O'er the fell hights of Bemis, they bore him away. 

He spoke, and his heart for a moment beat high, 
The fire of his spirit flashed forth from his eye, 
" When the terrible voice of the conflict is still, 
Lay me down in the sunset to rest on the hill." 

They saw the fierce gleam of the battle light fade, 
And faint grew the roar of the fell cannonade, 
When the wing of the night fluttered down o'er the 

west, 
They laid the brave warrior away to his rest. 

Proud day, Columbia, for thee, 

When upward soared thine eagle free ! 

Proud day, when from the hills of strife 

The sullen war cloud rolled away. 
And Triumph waved her peaceful wing 

Above the fell and fatal fray. 
Glad millions shouted then " 'tis done !" 

Saratoga County, N. Y,, on May 2d, 1835. Like the 
Davidson sisters (Lucretia and Margaret Miller), she 
at a very early age developed precocious intellectual 
abilities "which her pen shaped from 'airy nothings' 
and formed 'a local habitation and a name.'" Devoting 
the leisure hours of a busy life to literary pursuits, 
she, while yet in mere girlhood, accumulated the 
materials for a graceful volume of poems, which, after 
her death, through the indefatigable efforts of the late 
Judge Hay, of Saratoga Springs, were published under 
the title of "Rural Rhymes." She died April 15th, 
1859, and is buried near her heroine, Jane McCrea, 
in the Union Cemetery betw^een Fort Edward and 
Sandy Hill. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 121 

And high hearts hailed the victory won, 

And clear the exulting strain, 
In one loud peal of lofty song, 

Went o'er the heaving main. 

Oh, there was grief and anguish then 
In the bowed hearts of Albion's men. 
And dark as night the wing of woe, 
Brooded above the vanquished foe ! 
Not as when girded for the strife. 
In the full flush of daring life. 

With glowing hopes all vain, 
Through the dim silence, hushed and still, 
At sunset up the chosen hill, 

Wound the slow funeral train. 
Oh, not as marshaled for the field. 
With burnished lance and gleaming shield, 

And scarlet banners flame. 
That stricken band of warriors brave 

To the lone burial came ; 
Nor yet, with death-flag's ebon wave 

And sound of muffled drum. 
As conquering heroes to the grave 

Of martial glory come. 
No plaintive dirge rose on the air, 
No sable plumes drooped darkly there. 
But with hushed hearts and mournful tread 
They bore away their gallant dead. 

More awful than the battle's roll 
The gloom that bowed each haughty soul, 
And wilder was the storm within ^ 
Than the fierce conflict's raging din. 

Where he, the hero, fell, 
'Mid clash of arms and ring of steel. 
And brazen trumpet's clarion peal, 

And noise of bursting shell. 



122 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

Hark ! from the hills a sudden sound 
Trembles along the startled ground, 

And slowly dies away — 
'Tis from the bosom of the free, 
The mighty heart of victory 
Throbs in that solemn, mourning gun. 
And thus to Albion's fallen son 

The brave their tribute pay. 

'Tis beautiful, when those who met 
In dire and dreadful strife, forget 

Their hatred, dark and deep ; 
And when the tide of life swells high. 
Lay all their full rejoicing by. 

To weep with those who weep ! 

Oh, grateful in that hour of woe 
To those whose light had fled, 

The homage of the conquering foe. 
To him their noble dead ! 

And many a stern heart's mute despair. 
Was melted into softness there. 

And hot tears fell like rain. 
O'er the bold soldier's coffined form, 

The gallant Fraser slain ! 

The night came down in silence grand 

Above the hero's grave ; 
They turned away that mournful band — 

They left the sleeping brave 
Far from his own, his native land, 

Beyond the deep blue wave, 
And cloud and storm and gathering gloom. 
Were mourners at the warrior's tomb ! 
* * * * « 

'Twas the wild eve of that dread day 
When Albion's haughty standard fell. 



Th^ Burgoyne Ballads. 123 

Red lightnings flashed above the slain, 
And thunders tolled a fearful knell. 

The dying wail, the hollow groan 

Blent strangely with the hoarse wind's moan 

And darkly o'er the fatal Hights 
Where cold the ghastly fallen slept, 

Black clouds hung like a sable pall. 
And sad the pitying heavens wept. 

Out in the deep night's starless gloom. 

Like a white angel in the storm, 
Moved by her pure heart's deathless love, 

Stole woman's frail and tender form. 
Above her burst the tempest's wrath, 
And shadows gathered o'er her path. 
And yet the hurtling, shrieking blast 

Swept all unheeded by ; 
For colder than the blinding rain, 
The weary weight of grief and pain, 

That on her soul did lie. 
With falling tears her face grew damp, 

A mist came o'er her clear blue eye ; 
Her love, her light, her spirit's pride, 
He whose low voice had called her, bride, 
Bound bleeding in the foeman's camp. 

Had laid him down to die. 
Oh, stronger in that awful hour, 

And mightier than the strife. 
He tried affection's holy power. 
That lofty inspiration gave. 
And nerved with courage, calm and brave, 

The true, high-hearted wife ! 
She in her fearless faith would seek 

The proud, victorious foe, 
The chilling grief that blanched her cheek, 



124 The Burgoyne Ballads, 

To the stern hearts of men should speak : 
The strong should bow before the weak, 

And pity her wild woe. 
Her love the stricken one should bless, 
Her lips the brow of pain should press, 
By all her soul's deep tenderness, 

She to her lord would go ! 

Down by the surging river's shore. 

Lashed by the foaming spray, 
With spreading sail and waiting oar, 

The frail boat ready lay — 
And thither with light step and fleet. 
Her fond heart winging her fast feet, 

The brave wife bent her way. 
A moment's pause, a brief space o'er, 
And swift the light, careering barque, 
Launched out upon the waters dark, 
And closer round her shivering form. 
Fell the cold mantle of the storm. 

Oh, strengthened by the holy flame, 

That glows within her breast, 
And nerves with power her gentle frame, 
When clouds come o'er her heaven fair. 
What will not woman do and dare 
For those her love hath blest ! 



THE BURIAL OF GEN. FRASER. 

From Theodore Dwight's" Northern Traveller."* 

I. 

The warrior sleeps, he wakes no more. 
At glory's voice of chivalry ; 

* Theodore Dwight, author and editor, was born 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 125 

His part amid the strife is o'er 
He starts not at the cannon's roar, 
Nor rolling drum, nor musketry. 



in Hartford, Conn., March 3d, 1796. In 1833, he re- 
moved to Brooklyn, N. Y., and engaged in various 
public and philanthropic enterprises, becoming a direct- 
or in numerous religious and educational societies. In 
1854-8 he, with George Walker, was active in a 
systematic effort to send free-soil settlers to Kansas ; 
and it is estimated that 9000 persons were induced by 
them to go to that State. He was at different times 
engaged in an editorial capacity on several newspapers 
and magazines, and he was at one time chief editor 
and publisher of the New York Presbyterian. He 
published a number of works, one of which was "The 
Northern Traveller," from which the above verses are 
taken. He was a grandson of the Rev. Dr. Timothy, 
who served in the army of General Gates in Parsons' 
Brigade of the Connecticut line, and who, a few days 
before the battles of Saratoga, preached from the text : 
" / will remove far from me the Northern army!' 
At the time of his death Mr. Dwight was translating 
educational works into Spanish, for introduction into 
Spanish-American countries. He was an exceedingly 
active man, bearing his age wonderfully well. Indeed, 
this very activity was the direct cause of his death, 
which occurred in 1866. Shortly before his decease 
he called on me at the Journal of Commerce, of 
which paper I was then city editor, and coming up to 
the fifth floor — it was before the days of elevators — 
he fairly bounded into my room, exclaiming : " Mr. 
Stone, I have run up your stairs as easily and with no 
more effort than as if I were a boy again !" Some 
four days later, while attempting to board a PennsyU 



126 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

II. 

No more the soldier leads the band 

Of Britain's warlike infantry, 
They hear no more his stern command 
Nor gleams his sword, nor waves his hand 
Urging to death or victory ! 

III. 

The rifle lays the chieftain low 
By Morgan aimed so fatally. 
He falls where streams of life blood flow, 
Where comrades 'neath the deadly blow 
Have fallen wounded mortally. 

IV. 

So " Glory leads but to the grave" 

Such was the soldier's destiny 
To meet his doom he crossed the wave, 
His life-blood flowed, his deeds so brave, 
Were given for chains and slavery. 

V. 

In evening shadows sinks the sun, 

And life departs thus mournfully, 
Its brightness faaes in shadows dun. 
And so the hero's course was run. 
And ended thus in tragedy. 



vania Railroad train in motion — relying upon this 
same activity — he was thrown under the wheels and 
instantly killed ! 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 127 

VI. 

His lifeless form is borne on high, 

In solemn martial pageantry 
While threat'ning clouds obscure the sky, 
And fires of death are flashing nigh 

And roar of dread artillery. 



BALLADS ON THE DEATH OF JANE McCREA. 



SKETCH OF JANE McCREA. 

There have been so many different versions of the 
tragic death of Jane McCrea put forth, both at the 
time of the occurrence and since, that it seems only 
proper to give, as a preface to the numerous poems 
and ballads on this subject, the true version as gath- 
ered by myself after much research. 

Jane McCrea was born in Bedminster (now Lam- 
ington), N. J., in 1753, and was killed near Fort Ed- 
ward, N. Y., July 27th, 1777. She was the second 
daughter of Rev. James McCrea, a Presbyterian 
clergyman of Scotch descent, whose father, William, 
was an elder in White Clay Creek Church, near New- 
ark, Del. After his death she made her home with 
her brother John at Fort Edward, N. Y.* It is safe to 



* John McCrea, the brother of Jane, was a patriot. 
He had been with the unfortunate expedition of 
General Montgomery and fought in the battle of 
Quebec ; and when General Schuyler, in command at 
Fort Edward, called on the militia to take the field, 



TJie Burgoyne Ballads. 129 

say that no event, either in ancient or modern warfare, 
has received more versions than that of her death. It 
has been commemorated in story and in song, and 
narrated in grave histories in as many different ways 
as there have been writers on the subject. The facts 
appear to be as follows : 

David Jones, her lover, an officer in Burgoyne's 
army, then lying four miles from Fort Edward, sent 
a party of Indians, under Duluth, a half-breed, to es- 
cort his betrothed to the British camp, where they were 
to be at once married by Chaplain Brudenell,* Lady 



he promptly obeyed the summons. Between him and 
David Jones there had arisen an estrangement, grow- 
ing out of their opposite sympathies in relation to the 
war. But Jane still clung to her betrothed, notwith- 
standing her brother's dislike for him. 

* There is also much probability that Jane received 
communications from her lover at intervals, especially 
after the British army left Skenesborough. The fol- 
lowing original letter from Jones to Jenny bears out 
this view : 

'•Skenesboro', July ii, 1777. 

''Dear Friend : I have ye opportunity to send you 
this by William Bamsy, hoping through Freel it will 
come safe to hand. Since last writing, Ty has been 
taken, and we have had a battle, which no doubt you 
have been informed of before this. Through God's 
mercy I escaped destruction, and am now well at this 
place, for which thanks be to Him. The rebels cannot 
recover from the blow yt has been struck, and no doubt 
the war will soon end. Such should be the prayer of 
all of us. Dear Jenny, I do not forget you, though 



130 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

Harriet Acland* and Madame Riedesel (the wife of 
General Riedesel, in command of the Brunswick con- 
tingent) having good-naturedly consented to grace the 
nuptials by their presence. Duluth, having arrived 
within a quarter of a mile of the house of a Mrs. McNeil, 
a cousin of General Fraser (where Jane was waiting), 
halted in the woods until he should be joined by her by 
preconcerted arrangement. Meanwhile, another body 
of Indians from the British camp, under Le Loup, a 
fierce Wyandotte chief, returning from a marauding 



much there is to distract in these days, and hope I am 
remembered by you as formerly. In a few days we 
will march to Ft. Edward, for which I am anxious, 
where I shall have the happiness to meet you, after 
long absence. I hear from Isaac Vaughn, who has 
just come in, that the people on the river are moving 
to Albany. I hope if your brother John goes, you 
will not go with him, but stay at Mrs. McNeil's, to 
whom and Miss Hunter give my dutiful respects. 
There I will join you. My dear Jenny, these are sad 
times, but I think the war will end this year, as the 
rebels cannot hold out, and will see their error. By 
the blessing of Providence I trust we shall yet pass 
many years together in peace. Shall write on every 
occasion that offers, and hope to find you at Mrs. 
McNeil's. No more at present; but believe me yours 
affectionately till death. 

David Jones." 
* For a sketch of Lady Acland, explaining the fab- 
ulous account of her marriage with Parson Brudenell, 
etc.see Appendix No. V. I do not give one of Madame 
Riedesel, as that is found in my " Memoirs of General 
and Madame Riedesel," Munsell's Sons, Albany, N. Y. 



Tlie Burgoyne Ballads. 131 

expedition in the vicinity, drove in a scout of Ameri- 
cans, and stopping, on their return, at Mrs. McNeil's, 
took her and Jane captive, with the intention of 
bringing them into the British camp. On their way 
back they encountered Duluth's party, when the half- 
breed claimed Jane as being under his protection. 
Le Loup being unwilling to surrender his prisoner — 
himself wishing the honor of being her escort — high 
words ensued between the two leaders, when Le Loup„ 
enraged at being opposed, in a fit of violent passioii,, 
shot her through the heart. Then, having scalped his 
victim, he carried the reeking scalp into the British 
camp, where it was immediately recognized, by its long 
and beautiful tresses, by Mrs. McNeil, who, having 
been separated from Jane before the catastrophe, had 
arrived at Burgoyne's headquarters a little in advance. 
The next day her mangled body was conveyed by her 
brother. Colonel John McCrea, to the camp-ground of 
the fort, and there buried. Her lover, David Jones, 
it is said, never recovered from the shock thus received. 
He soon after resigned and left the army, and after 
many years of melancholy died unmarried. 

Miss McCrea is described by those who knew her 
personally as a young woman of rare accomplishments, 
great personal attractions, and of a remarkable sweet- 
ness of disposition. She was of medium stature, finely 
formed, and of a delicate blonde complexion. Her 
hair was of a golden brown and silken lustre, and, when 
unbound, trailed upon the ground. Her father was 
devoted to literary pursuits, and she thus had acquired 
a taste for reading unusual in one of her age in those 
early times. 

The tragic death of Jane McCrea was to the people 
of New York what the battle of Lexington was to the 
New England colonies. In each case the effect was 



132 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

to consolidate the inhabitants more firmly against the 
invaders. The blood of the unfortunate maiden was 
not shed in vain. Her name was passed as a note of 
alarm along the banks of the Hudson, and, as a rally- 
ing cry among the Green Mountains of Vermont, 
brought down to the army of Gates her hardy sons. 
It thus contributed in no slight degree to Burgoyne's 
defeat, which became a precursor and principal cause 
of American independence. Descendants of the Mc- 
Crea family are still (1893) living at Ballston, N. Y., 
and in other parts of the State of New York, and also 
in Newport, R. I. 

At the time of her death, her mangled and disfigured 
body was conveyed by her brother, Colonel John Mc- 
Crea, and sympathizing friends to Moses Kill, where a 
fortified camp-ground, laid out by the celebrated Polish 
engineer Kosciusko, was then occupied by the rear 
guard of the American army, under the command of 
General Arnold. Here, after some preparation, her 
body, together with that of the fated Van Vecten, was 
committed to a common grave. On April 2 2d, 1822, 
these remains were removed to the old burial-ground 
near the fort, at the lower end of the village of Fort 
Edward. The ceremonial was attended with unusual 
pomp and display for those early days — the celebrated 
and afterward unfortunate Hooper Cummings, of Al- 
bany, preaching upon that occasion from Micah 2 : 10 
so impressive and pathetic a sermon that many of 
his audience were convulsed with sobs and weep- 
ing. 

The remains of Miss McCrea were, in 1852, again 
removed to the Union Cemetery between Fort Ed- 
ward and Sandy Hill, the McCrea lot being near the 
main entrance. The marble slab which marks the spot 
bears the following inscription : 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 133 

HERE REST THE REMAINS OF 

JANE McCREA 

AGED 17 

MADE CAPTIVE AND MURDERED 

BY A BAND OF INDIANS 

WHILE ON A VISIT TO A RELATIVE IN 

THIS NEIGHBORHOOD 

A.D. 1777 

TO COMMEMORATE 

ONE OF THE MOST THRILLING INCIDENTS 

IN THE ANNALS OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

TO DO JUSTICE TO THE FAME OF THE GALLANT 

BRITISH OFFICER TO WHOM SHE WAS AFFIANCED 

AND AS A SIMPLE TRIBUTE TO THE 

MEMORY OF THE DEPARTED 

THIS STONE IS ERECTED 

BY HER NIECE 

SARAH HANNA PAYNE 

A.D. 1852. 

"There is at present" (1893), writes to me Mrs. 
Charles Stone, of Sandy Hill, who, with most praise- 
worthy zeal, has taken a deep interest in the matter 
" a chain fence with stone posts around the lot. The 
marble slab bears the coat-of-arms of the relic-hunter ! 
being nicked at every point, except possibly beneath 
the soil. The whole has the appearance of great 
neglect. There is, however, a fund now being raised 
to put it in much better condition. The public schools 
of Sandy Hill and Glens Falls have sent penny do- 
nations, and Fort E. has promised to do likewise. 
It is the intention of the trustees of the cemetery to 
have the improvements made this spring. They wish 
to erect a substantial fence, ornamental, of iron, but to 
be kept impenetrable from the chisel of the relic- 



134 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

hunter. Referring again to the fund, several of our 
citizens have given ; others are only waiting to 
be called upon. Ex-Mayor Henry Bedlow, of New- 
port, on learning the facts and of the fund, sent 
immediately fifty dollars. Mr. Bedlow has among 
his family deeds those of the McCreas, Jane having 
been his great-aunt. The treasurer of the Union Cem- 
etery is Ashiel Irving, cashier of the First National 
Bank of Fort Edward, and he will take pleasure in 
receiving contributions toward this end. In short, 
Jane McCrea's romantic and tragic death is of national 
importance, and means should be taken to let the 
public know of the fund now being raised. A certain 
portion of the fund will be kept in trust continually to 
improve, adorn, and keep in order the lot."* 



THE EPISODE OF JANE McCREA. 

{Samuel Standish narrator). 
By Rev. O. C. AuRiNGER.f 

To A. W. Holden, A.M., M.D., Scholar, Physician, and Friend, this 
poem is gratefully dedicated. 

Part I. 

We left the camp behind us locked in sleep, 
And marched with silent footsteps to the plain. 

* For an account of the latter days of Lieutenant 
David Jones, her betrothed, see Appendix No. VI. 

f Obadiah Cyrus Auringer, one of the most brilliant 
of the later-day exponents of the poetry of nature 
and nature's God, a most clever sonneteer and a 
writer of the sweetest, most taking, and elevating 
verse, was born in Glens Falls, Warren County, N. Y., 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 135 

We paused a moment at the sentry's hail, 

And answering passed on. Quitting the road — 

June 4th, 1849, ^f German-French parents. He 
was educated in the local schools, studied litera- 
ture and science for several years under various tutors, 
and began contributing articles in prose and verse to 
New York papers at the age of eighteen. Since then 
his name has become well known to readers of peri- 
odical literature, and his poems have been considered 
worthy of place in such standard works as Stedman 
& Hutchinson's " Library of American Literature," 
Sharp's "American Sonnets" (London), Crandall's 
" Representative Sonnets" and Higginson & Big- 
elow's " American Sonnets," as well as many other 
collections of high standing and similar nature. He 
entered the United States Navy at the age of twenty- 
two, and for three years was attached to the " Worces- 
ter" on the West Indian station, where he studied life 
in the tropics, and contributed to journals North and 
South. He left the navy in the summer of 1875, ^'^d 
spent several subsequent years on the family estate on 
Glen Lake, Warren County — as he says, " cultivating 
strawberries and poetry with considerable success." 
He was married in 1875 to Mrs. Eva Hendryx. 
While at Glen Lake he issued two volumes of poetry, 
contributed to leading papers and magazines, and 
began the study of theology, preparatory to entering 
the ministry. He was ordained in 1890 as a minister 
in the Presbyterian church. He removed to North- 
wood, N. Y., where he published another volume 
of verse. He was successful in his chosen profession, 
built up the church, and was, in 1893, called to the 
Third Presbyterian church of Troy, N. Y., over which 
he is now pastor. Mr. Auringer has published the fol- 



136 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

The broad way from the fortress leading north — 
We fell in file along a narrow path 
That lay across the plain and river marsh, 
O'ertopped a bluff by shaggy growths o'erspread, 
And crowned with pines and silence, leading thence 
Still on amid the wildwood's tangled glooms, 
Straight toward an ancient blockhouse on the hill. 
There lay the posts we were to seize and keep 
'Gainst scout or foray from the British line, 
Encamped upon the high plains to the north. 

Eighteen good men we were, armed woodman-like 
With musket, knife and hatchet, every man 
A chosen soldier seasoned in the wars — 
Sons of the sword, all eager for the work, — 
Led by a dark lieutenant, silent, stern, 
Yet true as steel and loved by every man — 
The trustiest in the camp. 

Without a word 
We moved in line along the narrow path. 
Crossed the flat plain, crossed the low river marsh, 
And steeped in moonshine and hot airs of night. 
Set knees against the rough acclivity. 
And gave ourselves to the wild wilderness. 

lowing volumes of poetry: "Voice of a Shell," 1883; 
"Scythe and Sword," 1887; "Heart of the Golden 
Roan," 1 89 1. He has now in preparation for early 
publication the " Episode of Jane McCrea," a nar- 
rative poem ; and a volume of minor verse. — Sketch 
by J. A. HoLDEN, of Glens Falls, N. Y. 

This poem was originally published in the Glens 
Falls Messenger, of December, 1888, a few years before 
Dr. Holden's death. A sketch of this lamented gentle- 
man, by his son, J. A. Holden, will be found in Ap- 
pendix No. XI. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 137 

We climbed the steep ascent with guns atrail, 

Picking our steps among the roots and stones 

That hid along the pathway. Now and then 

A musket breech would clink against a stone, 

Sending a sudden thrill along the file ; 

And then again some careless-falling foot 

Would slip and bring a soldier to his knee, 

Or send him reeling sidelong from the path, 

Where he would catch and cling by branch or limb, 

And sway his body back in line again, 

And onward as before. Then suddenly 

Some man would stop stock still along the file, 

Smote in the face by some lithe hazel rod 

That, carried out of place and springing back. 

Stung like a whip. Then would an oath break forth, 

Strangled at birth ; and followed in its turn 

A laugh or joke in smothered undertones 

At his expense who suffered from the blow — 

Danger just seasoned by a spice of fun, 

And no one made the worse, so all was still. 

For we were men trained not to utter sound 

Above necessity when foes were nigh 

Like those that hemmed us now. Because one day 

While hunting deer among the mountain glens 

Round old Ticonderoga in the north, 

And lying hushed and breathless with suspense. 

Hid in a rocky hollow, while our foes 

Drew ever closer round their secret snares, 

An Irishman, o'erfuU of bubbling fun 

And mirth, — the wit and spirit of the camp, — 

Possessed by some rash madness of the brain, 

Let loose his tongue with such garrulity 

That all the woods heard, and within an hour 

Revealed our hiding-place, and brought the foe 

Around us, roaring like a rush of wolves. 



138 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

And in the wildwood battle waged that day 

From tree to tree along that rugged ground, 

A feathered arrow from a warrior's bow 

Pierced both poor Michael's cheeks, transfixed the 

tongue, 
And silenced it forever. 

O'er the plain 
Two hills arose, abrupt and difficult 
To master — one above the other piled 
Like cloud on mountain, blotting out the stars 
And sky-gleams on the north. And on the crown 
Of the first height lay shelved a little plot. 
By jealous fairies stolen from the wilds. 
Gone bare of trees, but richly carpeted 
With soft green moss and silent, and it lay 
Walled three sides round by netted hazelwood 
Impenetrable. And there by the hill's sheer brow 
Where mingled earth with rock sprang onegreat pine, 
Whose black bulk carved on darkness towered in air 
In rugged perpendicular, and thence 
Branching, spread broad a dark green canopy, 
Mysterious, o'er the moss-soft forest floor, 
And down amid its roots a forest spring. 
Alive and cool, broke through the leaves and moss, 
Filling its shadowy basin to the brim. 
And then o'erflowing, broke o'er the hill's brow, 
Streaking the hillside with a vein of pearl. 
This was the ancient pine, and this the spring. 
And here the spot renowned in all the world, 
And here we halted, breathing hard, and here. 
With studied charge and order from the chief, 
Low spoken in the dark, distinct and short, 
I took my stand beneath the ancient pine 
To watch till morning. And my friends filed on, 
Vague bulks in darkness, laboring up the path, 



TJie Burgoyne Ballads. 139 

Across the plot, and up the next ascent, 
On toward the ruined blockhouse on the hill 

A long and lonesome watch beneath that tree — 

Long watch and lonesome ; wide in darkness spread 

The night-lone landscape round, behind, before — 

A wilderness gone dreaming, with the moon, 

Stars, silent-pacing clouds and stealthy airs 

Alert above it ; and below, alert, 

Their fellow-guard and watchman of the night, 

I, with my weapon and a lonely heart, 

But unafraid, kept watch, obedient. 

For our dear country's sake and liberty. 

The night hung slumberous, but one must keep 
His senses bound about him — no light charge. 
With naught to keep him wakeful but to watch. 
Just watch and wait the sluggish hours away, 
And listen. And to move beyond a small 
Circle well worn of safe and level ground, 
To stir about and feel one's self at large — 
Strictly forbid ! To make companionship 
With one's own pleasant inward impulses 
By singing songs, as soldiers love to do. 
Or whistling to call up the merry thoughts. 
To charm an idle watch— most perilous ! 
Our foes were wary ears, and there was cause 
To fear some few red warriors from the camp 
Above us lurked about the fort that night. 

A soldier's mind hoards small philosophy 
Among its treasures, woo it as he will ; 
A life of shocks breaks up the course of thought. 
And checks it midway. Contemplation, shy. 
Recluse and sensitive, starts from the sound 
Of war's oncoming murmur militant, 



140 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

And 'mid the roar of his impetuous rush 

Gathers her things about her daintily, 

And vanishes ; — Guard ! is the soldier's watchword. 

And yet he has his fancies, often sweet, 

Dreams dreams, and has ambitions of his own, 

Most welcome, though so oft they come to naught ; 

He has his store of stirring memories 

Laid up through years of strange experience. 

Of camps and marches, bloody battle-fields, 

Shipwrecks at sea, and perils on the shore. 

Hair-breadth escapes — all memorable things 

To lighten up the long hours of a watch. 

All these my mind tossed o'er, then fled away, 

Heart-piloted beyond the wilderness, 

And visited beside the eastern sea 

A humble fisher town 'twixt sands and crags 

Clustered apart, a butt for bluff sea winds, 

And salt-sharp storms hurled inland from the main. 

There stood a house I knew of, with its door 

Opening upon the wild sea waves, with sand. 

And wreck, and waste of many a stormy tide 

Spread near it. And I saw upon the beach 

My three sweet motherless children hard at play 

With all their little sea things — fairy boats 

Freighted with fairy thoughts imaginative 

Launched bravely from their hands, with mingled cries 

Of joy and apprehension — "See, she floats !" 

" She's down ! she's gone !" " Nay, there she comes 

again ! 
How sweetly she sails on now ! We will call 
Her name the Lucky Sailor, for good luck." 
And then they wave their hands and cry in the wind : 
" Luck to the Lucky Sailor !" o'er the foam. 

Back flashed my thought, and then forth out of earth. 
Or visionary starlight, airy space, 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 141 

Or fairyland of beauty none knows where, 

A maid's sweet face rose on my heart, distinct 

With light more real than reality, 

And warm as coming sunrise when far off 

It lingers half reluctant. Ah, such grace ! 

Fairer for loveliness than eye beholds 

Ever amid these desert solitudes 

Forsaken of fair things ! And it appeared, 

Arrayed for wonder and for loveliness. 

In one long downward flood of yellow hair, 

Like that which flows 'mid webs of charmed romance, 

Magical tales and legends all forlorn 

Imagined in old time, to net the heart, 

And bear it happy captive through the tale. 

Whereat my lips obedient spoke aloud 

A name in the darkness with such vehemence 

As made me start alarmed, and cast around 

Eyes apprehensive. But the loyal night. 

Kindly discreet, gave not the sound away 

To alien senseless ears. It was a name 

Since famous in the annals of the land 

That heard it cried round its circumference, 

Till it became a sign to conjure with, 

A watchword and a symbol. It had power 

So that a banner blazoned with that name. 

And borne from town to town through the broad land, 

Might by its magic gather to itself 

How many a thousand gallant hearts and swords, 

Fast pledged to all heroic sacrifice. 

For vengeance and our land's dear liberties! 

And in that name deeds deemed incredible. 

Opposed to all the precedents of war, 

Were yearly done and recorded by fame. 

Until the land breathed free, and we beheld 

Our flag triumphant wave from every hill. 



142 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

And in that name what individual acts 

Have been accompHshed ! I have known the soul, 

Lukewarm in hope and courage, take quick fire, 

And burn to noble death beneath its spell. 

And I have known the base and dissolute — 

The wretch that fought for plunder, hardened men, 

Cold soldiers by profession, shallow souls — 

Burlesques of heroes, lions in the camp, 

And lambs in battle — I have known all these 

To change their very nature at that name, 

And in the day of opportunity 

Prove Romans all ; and terrible in fight, 

Heap fame and honor and proud victory 

Upon themselves and country ! 

But these things 
Were yet unknown, unborn. The burning deed 
Yet lingered that would consecrate that name, 
Baptize it in warm blood, and send it forth 
On its miraculous mission through the world. 
As yet the name of maiden Jane McCrea 
Was but a synonym of beauty, grace. 
And worth, and all things rare and excellent 
In maidenhood's domain. And in that realm 
She ruled supreme and only. It was she 
Who reigned the belle of all the border land, 
The boast and toast of all the gallant souls 
In camp and garrison, the old man's cheer, 
The light of every young man's heart and eyes ; 
A queenly creature, governing her world 
By right supreme of beauty and excellence. 
Who moved among her people royally. 
Regarded now with fond solicitude, 
Because 'twas whispered that she was in love — 
Love makes a maiden sacred, so they say. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 143 

Among the people there's a story told 

About a soldier wounded in the war, 

Who fled through weary leagues of wilderness 

'Mid wild and secret perils of the woods, 

Hunger and beasts and foes inveterate. 

Seeking the camp ; and how at length he reached it — 

Only to lay him down a broken man 

In mind and body in a hospital, 

Along with more of war's unfortunates, 

To be born back with pain ; and how our Jane, 

Then but a tender bud of maidenhood. 

From sacred pity that he had no friend 

To nurse him in his sickness, took the place 

Of the restoring angel by his bed, 

And came and went a sunbeam in the gloom 

Of that dark hospital ; and how at length, 

Amid the feeble glimmerings of his mind. 

He knew her face alone among the many 

That passed before him daily. And 'tis said 

That when the lamp of mind burned clear once more 

And he could rise and walk with growing strength, 

And feel his heart returning through her care. 

From long beholding her he came to love her ; — 

The gentle looks, the touch of soothing hands, 

And all the nameless magic of a voice 

Attuned to sympathy, so wrought upon him 

That when he rose again, a man restored. 

His heart had all gone forth to the restorer. 

And then they tell how he delayed to speak 

The passion that possessed him, hiding it 

And hoarding it for awe and sacredness, 

Apart within his breast ; till learning late 

By chance report of love already pledged 

By her to some first lover long preferred. 

In manly silence, but with broken looks, 



144 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

He went away, leaving due recompense 
Of gratitude for all the faithfulness 
That wrought his restoration. So he passed 
From living sight and knowledge of his friends, 
And half from their remembrance as the days, 
Burdened with anxious cares of war, went by, 
And strife of factions. Then at last came one 
Who brought the tidings of a battle fought 
Out somewhere in the West, who told the tale 
That when 'twas o'er and won, among the slain 
They found a soldier, propped against a wall, 
Still grasping his red blade, and round his feet, 
Fallen in a horrid heap, full many a foe 
Lay weltering, gashed with many a fearful wound, 
As from a madman's fury. And they found. 
When they approached to bear him from that post 
Of death and valor to a soldier's grave. 
Pressed to dead lips with war-ensanguined hand 
A lock of golden hair, that could have grown 
Qn but one lovely head in all the world. 

Ah, such a girl ! Ah me, had I been young ! — 

Had I been young and free, as once I'd been, 

With all the virgin hunger of the heart, 

And all the headlong fire and fantasy 

That heavenly beauty kindles in the brain. 

What soul can tell what might have been } Ah well. 

Her heart had built its nest in another tree! 

Her smile, that would have overflowed with light 

Of glory and gladness some proud patriot's soul, 

Love-darkened all for her, had lit amiss 

Upon a Royalist! And truly 'twas 

A time of strange affections, lives perplexed, 

And lives run all to random-! Ere the war 

Broke o'er our land for life and liberty, 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 145 

While peace prolific tended at the plough, 

And heaped the grain in autumn well content, 

Walking thus largely liberal through the year, 

A youth, young, gay, and handsome, choicely bred. 

With mind and manners shaped in city schools, 

Whose stock had taken root in border soil. 

And flourished into fair prosperity 

With lands and cattle, saw our forest rose 

Brightening the borders of his daily path, 

And stopped, admired and plucked it. And the maid, 

Whose kin were friends of freedom, first of those 

Who voiced in the assemblies of the people 

Those thoughts deemed treason by the power o'er seas 

Ruling our land, became his promised bride — 

And he a Royalist ! By what mad chance, 

Or what wild tossing of the dice of fate, 

While wild war-spirits laughed, that stroke befell. 

Predicting strange confusion in the event. 

And necessary vengeance — who can say ! 

Were there not gallant fellows mad to woo, 

And just as gallant fellows mad to win. 

Among her near and loyal countrymen. 

Who blessed the ground she trod on, air she breathed, 

And made her queen and goddess of their thoughts. 

That she should cast her treasure all away 

Upon a counterfeit of royalty. 

That royalty despises in its heart — 

A foolish boy mad for a uniform 

Of scarlet — scarlet as the hue of shame 

That mantled honest faces when his act 

Of treason stirred the border ! Many a curse 

Lit on the act and actor, out of lips 

Thin drawn with bitterness ; and many a brow 

Knit hard, and many an eye flashed sullen fire ; 

And many a nail bit flesh of palm, as men 



14:6 The Burgoyne JBaUads. 

Thought on his deed and its significance — 

The torture and the peril of the time, 

Chiefly endured because of treachery, 

Betrayals by false friends, who underground 

Set traps to catch their neighbors unawares, 

Invoking all the arms of foreign foes, 

Leaorued with the hatchet and the incessant torch 

Of pitiless heathen for our overthrow. 

How we remembered all the suffering, 

The ceaseless roar of war waves round our shores, 

Breeding anxieties, reports extreme 

Of battle and disaster day by day, 

On sea and land, and all the multitude 

Of harrying disquiets poured upon us ! 

At home, the frequent midnight burnings, raids, 

And sudden slaughters, and a land laid waste, 

Fast slipping back to savagery, with life 

Cheapened to competition with the brutes, 

Our fellow-sufferers. And everywhere. 

Suspended over every household hearth, 

Forever in the trembling thoughts and dreams 

Of helpless grandsire, maiden, wife and babe, 

Scaring the dove of peace from every home, 

The fearful image of the tomahawk ! 

Was it so strange, remembering such things, 

A fire of hate should spring from this small spark 

Dropped on such fuel ! Then to think that one 

Who bartered honor for a piece of tape 

To wear upon his shoulder should have won 

And held so sweet a treasure, 'twas enough 

To roil men's thoughts, and stir their passions up 

To protestation — powerless enough, 

Because love makes a mockery of us all. 

But while they flung him hate and burning scorn 

As his right portion, still they loved the maid, 

Because she was so rare and beautiful. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 147 

But by and by the morning ! 'Twas the pipe 

Of bird, I think, that first announced the dawn 

From some near tree — a sweet and slender strain, 

Inquisitive, as if the dear musician 

Were doubtful if he caught the scent of dawn, 

And hesitated in his song. But now 

Upon that note pipe after pipe broke forth 

In choral harmony from all the hill, 

Until a thousand joyous voices blent 

Were making fairy music to the dawn ! 

It ceased ; and then appeared a narrow line 

Of mellow light low on the eastern sky. 

Beyond the distant hill lines as they lay 

Crouched on the horizon, silent, saturnine. 

And then a deeper glow warmed the same hills, 

That rose, unmasked, and showed their visages 

Beaming with genial light. And the same splendor 

Made pale the lustre of the summer stars 

Sprinkled along the east, and sent the darkness, 

Broken and pierced with many a kindling shaft. 

In broad retreat, until the orient 

Shone with red glory, though the sun delayed. 

The heavens waxed warm and bright, but all the earth 

Slept, in that latter deep and dreamless slumber 

That aye precedes the waking. Silent all 

The endless forest lay, except perchance, 

Unceasing, as the sweet breeze played, arose 

The sigh and murmur of a million leaves 

Shaken o'erhead ; the hum of rushing waves ; 

And sounding on in endless monotone, 

The surge and rumble of the cataract 

Far northward. And below along the plain 

Reposed the fortress ramparts coiled in dusk. 

Girdled with scattered huts ; and on the right 

Beneath the walls the eager Hudson flowed, 



148 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

Marching with all his thousands from the hills, 

With rustle and murmur of his million feet, 

Passing unseen beneath his cloud of mist 

That overhung him, seen for many a mile 

Tracking the forest with a trail of fleece. 

But brighter grew the red along the sky, 

And thinner grew the veil that wrapped the woods. 

As marched the light to westward o'er the world ; 

And then a bow of ruddy fire appeared, 

Crowning the far-off topmost eastern hill, 

And in a moment o'er the wilderness 

Broke the broad sun ! — a swimming fount of fire, 

Pouring its streams across the solitudes, 

Kindling the world to beauty with his blaze. 

His rays fired up the fog along the stream. 

And set the water sparkling, gilt the sands. 

Hung webs of yellow gauze about the hills, 

And woke the merry music of the birds 

In thicket deep and treetop everywhere. 

Oh, 'twas a sight worth one long watch to see, 

That world-old battle of the day with night. 

In which the day is glorious conqueror ! 

And while I gazed, and silent blessed the light 

For all its bounteous life and cheerfulness, 

A lengthened drum-pulse throbbed along the plain, 

That chorused with my heart-pulse pleasantly. 

It ceased. A wreath fantastic of fierce smoke , 

Rolled from the fort's low eastern parapet, 

And lo ! the fort spoke from her early gun. 

Telling the world of morning ! And the sound, 

Recoiling, passed, and fell among the hills 

Crashing; as when a storm cloud from the west 

Opens its first hoarse volley o'er the hills, 

That cracking rends the arches of the woods, 

Making the heart leap up in bird and beast 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 14^9 

And man, and striking silent all the trees 
In all their leaves. And then in mimicry, 
A hundred echoes, seizing on the theme, 
Ran babbling it the forest arches through. 
Hither and thither flying through the wilds. 
With voices blowing ever faint and fainter. 
Far off and farther, dying on the wind 
That blew from out the solitudes. 

For me. 
Yet one long hour before relief would come. 

I leaned upon my weapon, looking down 

Upon the narrow vista of the plain, 

Where war had drawn a furrow of dark earth. 

And planted it with cannon. There had men 

Reared for themselves rude homes in which to dwell, 

And till their narrow strip of backward soil. 

And hunt and fish and barter, nestled there 

Beneath the fostering pinions of the fort ; 

Each cottage with its tributary lawn, 

Beds of rare roses, yellow marigolds. 

And lilacs shadowing doorways with their green 

Blossoms just fallen — haunts of friendly birds. 

That made their homes in summer 'mid the boughs. 

I saw the people stirring out of doors, 

About their morning tasks — a pleasant sight. 

As I remember how it moved me then — 

Some bringing wood to light their morning fires, 

And some with yoke and bucket, toilsomely, 

That brought fresh water from the river's brink ; 

Or driving forth their cattle 'mid the dew 

To some deep forest pasture out of sight. 

I saw the soldiers moving in the fort, 

A few from cabined quarters just emerged. 

Greeting the morning from the low dark walls ; 



150 Hie Burgoyne Ballads. 

Half-naked gunners on the parapets, 

Swabbing away like demons in the light 

Of the red sun ; and creeping on his post, 

The sleepy watch with gun and bayonet ; 

Or servants from the stables leading forth, 

With halters slack, the train of thirsty beasts 

To water where the river lapped the sand. 

And I remember most especially 

How good the cook house smoke seemed to my eyes, 

And how the thought of breakfast cheered me up, 

And all the genial mess-room company 

One has in barracks. 

But in seeing this 
I saw not all. And truly such a morning — 
So flush, so rich — was pledge of fairer things 
Than visions of rough, kindly cottagers 
And war-stained soldiers — something for a crown 
To this fair morning kingdom. And that pledge 
Was now redeemed. Upon the southern edge 
Of the high forest wall that girt the camp, 
A something, charmed with airy grace and motion, 
Something akin to sunrise and fresh dews, 
And winds, and blowing roses of the wilds — 
A waft of morning — crossed my longing sight, 
Brightly advancing. Where the river waves. 
Penned in a cove that balked their onward rush. 
Like sheep pressed in confusion and complained, 
Striking the sand and shrinking in recoil, 
Pressing back on their fellows suddenly. 
As if they feared to tread the shining sands 
That bore their foot-prints of unnumbered years, 
I saw it break the shadows of the wood. 
And dawn another sunrise on the camp, 
Just touching it in passing. Where the fort 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 151 

Thrust out a threatening angle toward the stream, 

It lightly turned and took the narrow path — 

The path that we had taken — moving on 

Across the plain, across the river marsh, 

Threading the gleaming ribbon of the path 

Dry shod, as light and dainty as a fawn 

That trips the forest pasture. And I leaned 

And watched it hushed, as one so often will 

Who stands and cranes his neck, and holds his breath, 

To note the outcome of some ventured guess. 

As if 'twere life or death. And so my heart 

Laid wager with my eyes who this might be 

Coming so lightly. 'Twas a woman's form 

Coming so sweetly — sight in soldier's eyes 

Most prized of all in this great wilderness, 

Because so rare and transient. On it came 

Until it reached a cabin reared of logs 

Piled roughly in their bark, and covered o'er 

With faded forest branches that crouched low 

Within the outer circle of low huts — 

A lonely little dwelling, with its door 

Swung open to the morning, and a curl 

Of friendly smoke above its chimney stack. 

And to its door the maid of morning came. 

And paused. And from the cabin came a dame 

Of stanch and portly frame, and courteously 

Took the fair morning stranger by the hand. 

And led her in ; and both were lost to sight. 

They passed away from sight, but ere they went 

A breath of laughter floated up to me, 

Upon the air of morning sweetly borne. 

And then my heart laid claim upon my eyes 

For one more wager won — 'twas lovely Jane, 

Even as my heart had said ! And this was she — 

The famous, lovely, luckless Jane McCrea, 



162 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

Whose face had set such martial hearts aflame, 
Whose mournful fate has set the world on fire ! 
And I was glad at heart to have her near, 
And blessed the sunny morning in my soul, 
Praised the soft wind, the flashing river, and 
The songs of birds and forms of fellow-men, 
And all the forest scene. But suddenly 
All gladness died within me as my soul, 
By some mysterious instinct like a hound, 
Caught a fleet scent of evil in the air. 
Far off or hovering. There was lovely Jane, 
Arrayed as for her bridal, with the sun 
Seeking a Tory's house — I knew the dame, 
A brave Scotch lady, but in sentiment 
A Royalist as rank as ever breathed.* 
Here was our maiden nested in that lodge 
Of treason, with her lover hovering nigh. 
Hawk-like and watchful, in the English camp, 
Perhaps prepared to march with horse and foot 
Against her friends and mine, the feeble few 
Who held the fort, for 'twas a conquered land. 
What fate had lured her forth at such a time 
Of watch and danger ? Was it possible 
She dreamed to quit the shelter of the camp. 
And home and friends, and all the gallant guard 
Of hearts and weapons leagued in her defence, 
For that dark league of wilderness, beset 
By such two well-known dangers, all for a sight 
Of one mad boy in uniform } Alas ! 
If she had only known — had only known ! 
If she had only kept at home that day ! 
But there too late was she ! 

Then like a peal 
Of trumpet to a soldier in his dreams, 

* Mrs. McNeil, a cousin of General Simon Fraser. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 153 

There spake our foes ! There came a deadly crash 

Of rifles from the summit of the hill, 

A burst of smoke, and then a cry so wild 

And savage that the heart stopped at the sound 

An instant in its beating, and then leapt, 

Making the brain swim. 'Twas the battle shout 

Of twice a score of savage enemies 

Launching from ambush in a dim ravine 

That split the upper hilltop with a gash 

From some old torrent stroke, now flowing o'er 

With a roaring tide of red ferocity 

Upon my hapless comrades of the guard. 

Downward the cloud of battle swept the hill, 
Shooting its smothered lightnings as it went, 
With thunder and sound of voices wildly blent. 
Fierce yells, and short sharp cries from here and 

there. 
Where a shot struck the life, and laid on earth 
A soldier quivering. And on its edge 
Now and again lithe figures sprang to sight 
And vanished 'mong the tree boles here and there ; 
And then there passed the fleeting pantomime 
Of clenched and struggling forms that rolled on earth, 
With nimble limbs like serpents writhed and tossed, 
Knit in the last great grapple breast to breast. 

The first live thing I saw break from that cloud 

Was one poor soldier fleeing from his foes. 

Wild-eyed, bareheaded, wounded, weaponless. 

All blind with blood and terror, leaping out 

From the upper bluff", who fell, and gathering, came. 

Now stumbling more than running, toward the spot 



Where I stood roused and watching. 



On he came, 



154 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

But a clear streak of fire broke from above 

And downward, and he stopped with staring eyes 

A moment, and then dropped a clod beside me, 

Pierced through the breast ; and at his fall his foe, 

A tall fantastic warrior grim as hate, 

Launched at him from the bluff, with pealing cries 

Of triumph, waving high a glancing blade. 

To bear away the trophy of his deed. 

He never reached it ! Swifter than the lightning 

My weapon rose and spoke, and at the word 

Down rolled the heathen howling, clutching earth, 

And showering leaves in agony — a stroke 

Well struck, and yet, alas ! the only one 

That fate permitted me to deal that day. 

For lo ! the hanging bluff was all alive 

With gliding forms and fearful visages. 

And streaming scalp-locks ! Then I knew in soul 

The fatal issue of that dark surprise. 

And fight so quickly finished — naught, alas ! 

Save sudden death or capture to my friends. 

Whose weapons spoke no more, whose shouts were 

still. 
Whose enemies in insolent victory 
Ranged everywhere. 

One instant desperate 
Wherein to fight or flee — to die or flee — 
That was the choice. With madness in my soul, 
Yet loving life, I laid my gun aside. 
That death to many afoeman, and my friend 
Trusted and true, gift of my ancestor, 
Whose deeds in former wars had made it famous — 
Famed weapon, famous fighter ; cast beside it 
My oxhorn flask, and leathern pouch with balls; 
Plucked out the heavy war-axe from my belt. 
Grasped firm my knife, and glancing everywhere 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 155 

For lurking foes, slid snake-like down the path, 

Brushing the foliage lightly ; then leapt out, 

Long like a hunted deer, when stretch the hounds 

Red-mouthed upon his track. And running raised 

My voice, and rang aloud along the plain — 

" Fly for your lives, the foe is at your doors ! 

Fly to the fort !" to warn the villagers. 

I never reached the fort though ; luck, or fate, 

Or some ill influence that dogs men's steps, 

Had writ me down unfortunate that day. 

For scarce my feet had carried me 'mid plain. 

Running with every nerve stretched, arms a-play. 

My spirits up and dancing, courage roused, 

And passions all enlisted in the race. 

When suddenly a thicket by the path 

Let out three lurking heathen on my front, 

And cut the glorious race short. One of the three, 

A hunched black warrior with a spiteful eye, 

Thrust out a fire-arm in malignant rage. 

And as I bounded onward, fired, and I 

Plunged forward to the earth, stung in the heel 

By hissing lead — a moment shocked, surprised. 

Not knowing well my hurt — fell, but arose. 

Hot-faced with rage, and met my foeman ther^ 

With one slim blade, but panting for the strife 

Of strength and warrior courage to the end. 

But ere a blow was struck, amid the pause 

Defiant, filled with flying hateful glances, 

A tall wild warrior, limbed like Hercules, 

And slippery as a serpent from the fens 

Of his old forests, flung his gun to earth. 

Leapt lightly on me, coiled himself about me. 

Tying my limbs with tangles of lithe strength, 

And bore me down to earth tied motionless ; 

And his companion, greedily with his hands 



156 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

Tied fast my limbs with cords. Then both arose, 
And looked on me. Then the hunched heathen took 
My blade, torn from my grasp, and whetted it 
Upon his earth-soiled moccasin awhile. 
Eying me as a butcher eyes a sheep 
Laid bound for slaughter. Ceasing, up he sprang, 
And flashed the steel in my eyes, extravagant 
In cries and shows of triumph. 

So I lay 
Bound in the presence of my enemies. 
It was a thing most wonderfully done — 
I never saw aught like it in my time, 
'Mid all the cunning arts and sleights of fight 
Long practised in the handicraft of war ! 
My^heart cried shame upon me then, and tears, 
The first to dim my eyes for many a year. 
Flowed to reproach my fallen estate, that I, 
A famous wrestler in my college days, 
And man of action, and on many a field 
Since then triumphant in my strength of arm, 
At last should yield my prestige in the art 
To that wild fellow of the woods, untaught, 
With naught but simple nature for his friend. 
And yet amid my sharp humility 
I did admire the deed ! It pleased me so 
That I forgave the fellow on the spot 
With all my heart, it was so bravely done ! 

A few swift words in their ungentle tongue, 
Complete with glancing eyes and waving arms. 
Passed 'twixt my captors. Then the champion took 
His weapons, beckoned to his chosen mate — 
A lean and sinewy warrior, like a wolf — 
Who followed, and the pair with secret steps 
Passed silently from sight. And then approached 



T?ie Burgoyne Ballads. 157 

My foe, that piece of fierce deformity, 
And bade me rise. And I arose and went, 
Having no choice, before him up the slope. 
Printing the path with blood, but with the sun 
Warm on my back ; and soon, with bounden limbs, 
In pain lay stretched beneath the ancient pine 
Where gushed the spring of water from the bank — 
A vein of pearl by moonshine, but in the sun 
A darting snake of gold that rustling ran 
Down briary cleft of hillslope to the plain. 
I lay and watched it from my rugged couch 
Awhile, half pleased and soothed to see it flow. 
Bearing my thought a moment on its wave. 

Then sounds were heard above me on the rock, 

Voices confused, and tread of many feet. 

And ring of arm that clashed on fellow arm 

Cast on the earth. But all I heard unmoved, 

Being downcast and captive. But my guard 

Grew restless at the sounds, and flew aside 

Often to view the scene, as oft returned 

With looks more dark and threatening ; till at last, 

O'ercome by restless longing like a child. 

Fretful ot aught that bars him from his wish, 

He vanished up the rock, leaving behind 

His spear, and one wild warning glance of eye 

Shot backward as he passed. I heeded not, 

But lay until his last limb disappeared. 

Withdrawn above the brink ! 'Twas then with pain 

And utmost struggle that I rose and stood. 

Supported by the pine tree's friendly bulk — 

Ah, how the cords did eat into my flesh ! — 

And looked with sharpened eyes across the plot 

Brought level with my gaze. It was a sight 

To stir the heart with wrath, disgust, and hate, 



158 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

To fill the soul with curses 'stead of prayer, 

The mouth with prayers that were naught else but 

curses ; 
And stir a sleeping demon in the breast 
To thrills of fiendishness that puts to shame 
The thing divine in man. A company 
Red-handed from the slaughter clustered there, 
Astir with dark exultance round a heap 
Of ghastly battle trophies, which their hands 
Had stripped from murdered bodies of brave men. 
And they my comrades ! Garments bathed in blood 
Were there ; and many a weapon with its steel 
Dimmed with the smoke of conflict, as it fell 
From some strong soldier's grasp struck in mid course 
Of fiery onset. One slim blade I saw 
Snapped at the point and crimsoned to the haft. 
Among the throng were some that crawled along 
On wounded limbs, the furnace of their hate 
Seven times more heated by the fires of pain ; 
And now and then a hand amid the throng 
Would pluck a loathly object from a girdle, 
And whirl the fearful trophy high in air, 
Whereon triumphant cries broke from the throng, 
That filled my soul with loathing. Back I sank 
Upon the kindher earth, all sick at soul. 
With nature shocked, offended at the sight 
Of triumph more degrading than defeat. 

Now sounds of coming footsteps caught my ear 
Climbing the path beneath me ; though the leaves 
Hung thick before the way, and mixed o'erhead, 
Shut out the panting climbers from my sight, 
A hope my soul had harbored while I lay 
Helpless, with prayers for vengeance on my foes, 
Sprang up alive at these oncoming sounds, 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 159 

And broke the dear news to my panting heart, 

This was the longed-for succor from the fort — 

Alas, that never came ! The foliage 

That closed the path, just where it took its plunge 

Sheer to the plain, was shaken for a space, 

Then parted, and my conqueror stood in view, 

With some behind him. It was then I saw 

The first true act of savage gallantry 

My eyes had ever seen. A step aside 

He made, and paused, and gracefully with his hand 

Drew back the plaited foliage from the path, 

And let two ladies through. The first that came 

Was Jennie, issuing from the leafy shade 

In all her maiden glory — like the sun, 

O'ermounting in its course victorious 

Through heaven the cloud that barred his early beams. 

The morning's exercise had put a flush 

Of rosy warmth upon her countenance ; 

Her bonnet now was off, and from her head — 

That strong proud head she carried like a queen — 

Even from the low brow backward o'er her crown. 

Along her back until its crinkled gold 

Streaked bright the path behind her as she walked. 

Rolled down in glorious billows that great hair 

Whose match was never seen in all the world ! 

I looked upon her face — there was no shade 

Of fear that troubled her fair countenance ; 

But in her sweet blue eyes a pointed light 

Quivered ; and on her cheek, and in her lips, 

Proud curled and beautiful, a fire and sting 

Of lovely indignation burned, that told 

A world of things by tongue unspeakable, 

In judgment from a proud imperial soul 

Offended. Painfully behind her came 

Her friend and hostess, great in flesh and frame, 



160 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

On whom the heat and toil pressed wearily ; 
And o'er her shoulder as she came two eyes 
Shone baleful, of a captor at her back. 

Scarce had they issued ere the maiden's eyes 
Beheld me lying helpless in my bonds. 
She thrust aside with an imperious hand 
And glance of scorn, her captor from her path, 
And came close to my side, knew me and smiled, 
And spoke a pleasant word to cheer me up, 
Bending above till her fallen hair 
Touched my prone breast with blessing — in her care 
For me forgetful of her greater woe. 

tender light of woman's sympathy, 
Shining in that dark place ! 

A moment more 
And all were passing onward up the path. 
Round the rock's angle, climbing toward the plot — 
A rugged path for tender feet to tread. 
Rough, hard and stony cruel ! Oh, I wished — 

1 wished and longed, but could not, being bound — 
To ease them on — it was but natural — 

One loves to smooth the pathway for a friend ! 
And as they vanished, winding round the rock, 
I felt that awful sinking of the heart 
Suddenly take me, that I oft had felt. 
Sometimes on battle-fields, sometimes in camps, 
And often on the waters of the deep, 
Forerunning some disaster, woe or death 
To one I loved the best in all the world. 
They reached the plot and halted ; then a shout 
Vociferous from savage throats arose 
In greeting to their chief. And then the chiefs, 
Grave and subdued, apart upon the rock. 
Assembled in dark conclave, motionless 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 161 

Except for lips and eyes unresting moved 

In energy of speech, and glances shot 

Oft toward the fort with sign significant, 

And oft upon the captives. And among them, 

Chief in authority and eloquence. 

Presided my wild captor. Brief the council. 

And soon dissolved ; and mixing' with the men, 

By swift and subtle signs tiie chiefs made known 

Their will. And then stepped forth two warriors, 

strong 
Of limb and innocent of battle stain 
Or reek of human trophy, and addressed 
In broken tongue, but still unbroken signs, 
And not ungentle art and emphasis 
The elder captive, pointing toward the north 
With often outstretched arm and liberal air 
Of signified assurance. But the dame 
Returned no word nor stirred, but stood bowed down 
As if absorbed in her calamity. 
And oft she sighed and deep, like one o'erspent 
With toil or utmost grief. A little while 
Remained she thus, and then she raised her head, 
W^ith stern and flashing eyes fixed on her foes, 
And opening at once her heart and lips. 
Poured out with marvellous mastery of tongue 
A rain of indignation on her foes. 
And all the band shrank awestruck from that speech, 
Whose fire and thrust wrought havoc with their wits, 
And overthrew each warrior where he stood 
With fear and admiration. Cowed, subdued, 
By such unwonted thunder in their ears, 
They changed — unchanged in purpose still — their arts 
To win obedience to their designs 
From their reluctant captive — cringed and crawled 
In awkward forms of savage blandishment. 



162 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

And flatteries unpractised by their kind. 
Their rude persuasions triumphed ; and the two 
Took her between them, moving leisurely."^ 
And sought the broader highway pointing east 
Along the hill's foot. Winding toward the plain 
They pressed along, appearing in and out 
Among the hazel shoots and pine-tree boles 
That clustered thick between us, and were gone. 

* At this point it would seem that Mrs. McNeil 
lost sight of Jenny, "who," to use the language of 
Mrs. McNeil, in relating the circumstances afterward, 
"was there ahead of me, and appeared to be firmly 
seated on the saddle, and held the rein, while several 
I ndians seemed to guard her — the ' Wyandotte Panther ' 
still ascending the hill and pulling along by bridle-bit 
the affi'ighted horse upon which poor Jenny rode." 
Mrs. McNeil, however, was soon separated from 
Jenny and carried off to "Griffith's House," and there 
kept by the Indians until the next day, when she was 
ransomed and taken to the British camp. " I never 
saw Jenny afterward," says Mrs. McNeil, "nor any- 
thing that appertained to her person, until my arrival 
in the British camp, when an aide-de-camp showed me 
a fresh scalp-lock which I could not mistake. Till 
that evidence of her death was exhibited, I hoped 
almost against hope that poor Jenny had been either 
rescued or brought by our captors to some part of the 
British encampment." While at " Griffith's House," 
Mrs. McNeil endeavored to hire an Indian, named 
Captain Tommo, to go back and search for her com- 
panion ; but neither he nor any of the Indians could be 
prevailed upon to venture even as far back as the brow 
of Fort Edward Hill to look down it for the 
" White Squaw," as they called Jenny. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. ' 153 

And as they passed, my eyes from the pursuit 
Flew back to the rock where hovered all my fears 
Like birds among the branches when the snake 
Comes crawling toward the nest. Upon that rock 
Conspicuous amid the wilderness, 
With these wild scenes and faces witnessing, 
Those children of two races, white and red,^' 
The maiden and the warrior, with a sword' 
Extinguishing between them, stood apart 
And gazed upon each other. ... May his race 
Fade from the white man's face as sank his gaze 
Before those eyes of steadfast innocence, 
Judging his lawless soul ! 

Meanwhile, the sun, 
All bright till then, and shining in his streno-th 
Making the whole world beautiful with Wght, 
Suddenly darkened, and a wind arose, 
Silent till then, and wailing filled the woods 
With mournful sounds, and sinking swept the ground 
Shaking the leaves and trailers on the stones. 
And whispering round the tree trunks drearily, 
As if It knew and grieved. And in the trees 
The sweet birds ceased their songs, and suddenly 
With piercing cries fled through the lowerino- air 
Whirhng in frightened bevies out of sight. ^ 

Away in forest depths some wandering wolf 
Howled and was still ; and some distressed beast 
In some far border farmyard raised its voice 

And lowed disconsolate to the darkened sky. 

And through my heart and blood a dull chili crept 

And o'er my mind a dark foreboding cloud 

Closed by degrees, and was not lifted more 

Till that dark evil drawing to a head 

Discharged itself in blood upon the land. 



164 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

There rose a sudden tumult on the rock, 

Like shouts of drunken soldiers when a town 

Is sacked, and riot howls amid the streets, 

Urged on by lust and passion and vile drink 

Concocted by the devil. And I saw 

The fit of lawless passion break and rage, 

'Mid brutal violence and strife of tongues. 

Not wanting coarsest poison ; gestures mad. 

Flashing of hate-hot eyes, hands clenched and tossed 

In desperate menace, weapons seized and drawn. 

And all the tumult of a savage strife 

Swelling to blows. And I stood trembling, stayed 

Against my bulwark tree, with all the man 

Within me crying out against my bonds, 

No power of mine could rend, although I strove 

With strength by rage made desperate — all in vain ! — 

The cord was trusty and the knot made sure 

Beyond all rending. 

Suddenly as I gazed, 
A rifle barrel gleamed amid the throng. 
Hung there a moment set and ominous, 
Ere the wild shot screamed out. Then I beheld 
The maid start suddenly, as if surprised 
At the hurt done her, saw her shining head 
Sink, with its weight of tresses, to her breast ; 
I heard a long deep sigh, as of a soul 
Passing to quiet rest ; and sinking down 
She lay a lovely ruin on the earth, 
All overflowed with her great wave of hair. 
And then I saw a hatchet whirl in air, 
And fall upon that poor defenceless head 
Scarce yet insensible. These eyes did see 
A savage hand twined in that sacred hair, 
A hell-lit face above, a glitter of steel. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 165 

And then — and then I saw no more ! I barred 
With burning lids my eyes against the sight, 
And turned and laid me on the earth and wept — 
As I weep now. Forgive me if I weep, 
It helps the heart to grieve a little while — 
The flow of tears turns off the flood of woe, 
And saves the heart from too much memory — 
The memory of that deed unparalleled 
In all the annals of this bloody land 
Since history began. . . . 

Oh, there goes forth 
A cry that shall be quiet nevermore, 
A voice to speak unto the years unborn, 
A voice proclaiming judgment, and a power 
To trouble thrones, cast reputations down 
Beyond wide seas, in other, alien lands 
Our arms can never reach, our laws o'erawe. 
Our justice rectify. That voice was heard 
A war cry thrilling through the patriot hosts 
On Saratoga's field. And flying on, 
It sounded wild o'er Yorktown, and gave back 
The eagle to our hosts. On ocean's wave 
It sounded suddenly amid the roar 
Combined of wind and wave and bellowing guns ; 
Filled with heroic madness the strong souls 
Of seamen, till another answering shout, 
This time of victory, ran on the waves 
Which bore the news to all the nations. So 
Our flag triumphant waves from every hill. 

And when at length I looked abroad again, 
Another change had come upon the scene ; 
The summer sky was blue and bright again, 
Now that the evil shadow of that cloud 
Had broken up, and passing left it clear. 



166 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

For that mysterious darkness now was gone ; 

Again the sun shone o'er the wilderness, 

Again the merry birds sang in the trees, 

The squirrel skipped and sported on his limb, 

And cast the empty refuse of his feast 

With mocking gibes upon me as I lay. 

Then sped with nimble scamperings out of sight. 

A pleasant breeze hummed quaintly in my ears, 

Making the leaves shake lightly, while the sun 

Speckled the rich turf under them with gold. 

Nature, who closed her eyes on that dark deed. 

Refusing to behold it, now was gay, 

And made her Sabbath music as before. 

Part II. 

Ah well ! I scarcely knew what next they did, 
Except they spared me — spared my worthless life. 
Though they had torn my heart, and stunned my brain. 
And stabbed my suffering spirit through and through 
With thrice the pangs of death. They loosed my 

bonds, 
And bade me rise — not spitefully indeed — 
Even a little pitifully it seemed. 
And I arose and made essay to walk, 
With such poor progress as my stumbling limbs 
Might make along a path so blind and rough. 
For I was stunned, benumbed in head and limb. 
And moved as one that walks but half awake. 
Scarce feeling pain or pleasure. Everything 
Seemed strangely dim and dusky round me now, 
And faint and dream-like. All the pleasant sounds 
And gladsome sights that filled the Sabbath woods 
Came to me through some dusky medium 
That cloaked the senses. 



TJie Burgoyne Ballads. 16 T 

So we passed along, 
My captors strangely temperate with me 
In my loose walk, and stumblings to and fro, 
With feet benumbed and bleeding. Yet they kept 
Ever beside me, gliding dim and dark. 
Like demons in a nightmare — creeping, creeping — 
So dumb and death-like — it was terrible ! 
Truly they seemed like devils ! 

Slow we went 
Under the cooling shade, o'er leaf-beds spread 
To deaden more our footsteps ; when erelong 
We overtook the dame and her two guards — 
Travellers more slow than we — ^journeying on 
Their road laboriously. And yet the dame 
Failed not of spirit, but brave and bright of eye. 
And stout of heart, toiled on complainingless. 
I thought she paled a little when she saw 
Our band appear with but one prisoner, 
And that the one least present in her thoughts ; 
Perhaps she questioned me by some mute sign — 
But I was stunned and dreaming, knowing naught, 
And she bore stoutly onward as before. 

At last we reached a cabin hid in woods, 
Log-built and brown, with hospitable look — 
A sort of inn, with loungers round the door — 
W^hite men and red, who roused them as we came 
Up to the porch, and gazed, but said no word — 
And dogs and children playing round the porch. 
And here we paused and rested for awhile. 
Took food, and such rough comfort as we might, 
Being downcast and captive, and reserved 
For what dark fate we knew not — nay, and I — 
At least I cared not ! Fate had naught for me 
I even cared to question or to know, 



168 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

So weary was my soul of all this strife. 

We gathered up, and took our road again, 

Something improved in spirit and in limb, 

For the brief tarry and the food we took. 

And now our captors grew more kind, and turned 

Often, and spoke to us in broken words. 

And not ungently. Tried to cheer us up, 

Speaking in words and signs of camp and friends. 

Of ransoms and of coming liberty — 

Themes, to be sure, to buoy a captive up. 

And start a peering hope within the heart 

Of black misfortune — all in vain to me. 

Too heart-sick to revive at anything ; 

Too worn of all this seeming senseless strife, 

Of all this noisy war of arms and tongues — 

These endless themes of battles, battles, battles ! 

Of marches, salhes, camps and victories 

Forever on men's tongues ! Sick of this land — 

Sick of the land and all its miseries, 

And even of life and all that life contains. 

And my brave comrade in captivity — 

She was too angry still to heed them much, 

Or answer if she heeded. 

When the sun 
Had dipped below the fringe of forest trees 
Far on the skirts of that green lonely world. 
And half the summer afternoon had waned, 
Slow fading toward the west, we reached a place 
Where the high plain around us and behind 
Ceased suddenly, and the land fell away 
To northward with a plunge, into a stretch 
Of dark and sunken soil, with cedar shades 
O'erspread, that girt the highlands like a girdle. 
And in its very coil the British camp, 
Dotting a low knoll with its clustered tents, 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 169 

Like cones of fleece amid the blackened stumps 
And black earth scorched with fire. And round it, 

walls 
Of cedar woods impenetrable, wild, 
And dim and lonesome. 'Twas a pretty sight, 
That touched the soul with a reviving sense 
Of hope and cheer and human fellowship, 
After that dim and ghostly march, with souls 
Bowed 'neath their burden of captivity. 
And as we looked, it seemed as if I saw, 
Instead of tents that sheltered mortal foes, 
A camp of angels, with celestial tents 
Pitched in the heart of the great wilderness, 
Gleaming a moment, soon to be withdrawn. 
Our captors saw, and shouting swung in air 
Their bloody relics ; for their march was done, 
Their danger past, their triumph nigh complete. 
They shouted, and an answering cry arose 
From the camp's rear. And then a troop of friends — 
Friends of our foes, God help us, not of ours — 
Sprang forth to meet them, like a pack of dogs 
Flying with yelps and gambollings of joy 
To meet their kind returning from a raid 
Upon some innocent sheepfold, bathed in blood, 
And mad with gust of slaughter — so they came. 
A file of soldiers too were soon on foot, 
Flashing in steel and scarlet up the path, 
And as they came the clamorous dogs grew mute, 
Ceased their vile gambollings, and slunk away 
O'erawed and cowed — except, indeed, the few 
Whose orame we were. And these restrained them- 

selves, 
Submitting while the King's men, filing round, 
Enclosed and drew us from them. Silently, 
With stately tread, they marched us down the hill, 



170 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

And with no further parley or delay 

Drew toward a log-reared cabin, roofed with bark, 

That stood the centre of the clustered tents 

That flecked the knoll. A sentry in the path 

Saluted, and our leader touched his cap, 

And on we passed, dogged by our dusky foes, 

Sliding along like shadows, and as still. 

Suffered to pass with that mute tolerance 

Which shadows claim that dog us everywhere — 

Nay, worse, scorned and detested, so it seemed, 

With silent and significant neglect 

By these their bounden patrons, paymasters. 

And nominal fair friends. Erelong we stood 

Around the door of the great general's tent 

Commanding these strong legions — men and arms — 

Marching with purple pride and waving flags 

To crush the weak and miserable few 

Who bore the burden of this mighty cause, 

And the freedom of our people on their swords. 

The red guard parted right and left, and we 

Filed in between them through the open door, 

My captive friend and I, and following still, 

Our foes, subdued and watchful. Then the guard 

Wheeled and marched off", a sergeant, proud and tall. 

Stepping with stately motion in our rear. 

A low rude room it was wherein we stood, 
Divided in the midst by dropping walls 
Of painted curtains, looped in heavy folds, 
Like banners o'er an archway. All the walls 
Were cedar beams yet shaggy with the bark 
Wherein they grew ; and for a floor our feet 
Stood ankle-deep in bearskins loosely laid 
Upon the bare and rugged earth beneath. 
Around the room were banners, weapons, chests 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 171 

Carved, and with mighty clasps of brass thereon, 

Ancient, from over seas ; and everywhere 

The all select and choice appurtenance 

Of a great general's tent. There stood a desk. 

Whereat a pale clerk in half uniform 

Sat busy working at his documents, 

His head upon one side, with sidelong eye 

Upon the lines made by his running quill. 

He quit his task, half wheeling in his seat, 

Eying us sharply; then smiled, half in scorn, 

At such extreme dejection. " Ah," he said, 

" Prisoners, I see ! Go, orderly, report 

Two prisoners to the general, and return." 

And turning to his documents again. 

Wrote on. And the proud sergeant at the door 

Stalked out, his sabre clanking as he went. 

Then passed a scene I never shall forget. 

The strangest scene, considering time and place, 

My eyes have ever seen. Entered the tent 

Two officers in royal uniform — 

One, middle-aged and careworn, moving slow ; 

One, young, built like a prince, with flashing eyes. 

And with the name and character complete 

Of soldier and brave man inscribed upon him — 

A fine, dark fellow. Then the elder paused, 

Scarce yet within the tent door, with his eyes 

Upon the wretched dame, and suddenly. 

With dubious voice, " Why, madam !" he exclaimed. 

And, " General !" she replied, distinct and short ; 

And flash upon that greeting there arose 

A storm of tongue and temper, unapproached 

In all my memory of wordy wars — 

The crown and flower of female raillery, 

Saved by just rage from mere vulgarity 



172 Tfie Burgoyne Ballads. 

Detestable to see. Oh, it was rare, 

To see that haughty English general, 

Great lord of hosts, and conqueror of realms, 

Who never bowed before an enemy. 

Whipped in his tent by one wronged woman's tongue ! 

And that same woman his own cousin born — 

His kinswoman according to the flesh ; 

And more than that, in soul and sentiment, 

A partner in the cause for which he fought — 

A royalist as rank as ever breathed. 

A doting lion, hungering for prey. 

Had pounced upon and caught — a lioness ! 

And now. Sir Lion, look you out for claws ! 

Oh, and the claws were there ! And suddenly 

Unsheathed, made havoc more complete than swords 

Of twice a score of alien adversaries. 

Whom courage might o'ercome. " Sir, stand and look ! 

This is a precious piece of gallantry, 

Right worthy of a Royal officer 

And gentleman !" Twas thus the gale begun. 

And waxed anon until it blew great guns. 

Drowning all opposition. " On my word !" 

" Upon the honor of a gentleman !" 

" Madam, I swear" — " Permit me, but a word !" 

" I never knew — indeed, how could I know ! — 

I beg you stop and let me say a word." 

Straws to the wind ! 'Twas wonderful to hear 

What gusts of words, what flashes scintillant 

Of keen sarcastic lightning, stormy bursts 

Of most authentic thunder, what keen thrusts 

Of deadly irony, dealt thick and fast. 

One following on another like a glance. 

Poured from the fiery heart and stormy lungs 

Of that great titaness ! And ended all 

With one great cry that filled the tent, and shrilled. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 173 

Piercing all ears. " Oh, there stand murderers here ! 

Ask them of Jenny— ask of Jane McCrea !" 

And then the true warm woman in her heart 

O'ermatched at last her rage, and down she sank, 

O'ercome, and, like a woman, all in tears. 

And thereupon the mighty general 

Brought out a soldier's cloak of ample breadth, 

And gallantly as ever soldier could 

Spread it about the shoulders of the dame,^ 

And smiling besought her wear it for awhile. 

Until a fitting robe be found for her. 

To better clothe her form. And she arose, 

Muttering short thanks, and shaking down the folds. 

Sat down again, wrapped up from head to heel. 

And then the clerk, whose pen had quit its task 

Upon the outbreak of that wordy war, 

His eyes meanwhile brimful of sparkling fun, 

And overbubbling humor scarce restrained, 

Resumed his quill, and scratched on as before. 

The general, mild and all obsequious, 

Complacent with his tact and management, 

Stood rubbing hands vivaciously. 

Behind, 
Unmoved and sullen, ranged along the wall, 
The Indians stood, like shadow^s darkly limned. 
But shadows with fierce eyeballs now and then 
Slanting their dusky glimmer, half at rest, 
Patient, on foot, taking their wonted ease. 
And every mind took on a sense of calm 
How grateful ; and each heart conceived a touch 
Of human fellowship ; and every face 
Assumed a look of comfort and content 
At this subsidence — every face save one, 
And that was white and anxious, as the man 
Measured the cabin's length from end to end 



174: The Biirgoyne Ballads. 

With restless strides.. A panther might have moved 

Thus while the brush stirred with the hunter's steps, 

Closing the hunt around him. As he paced 

His glances played in an incessant search 

Betwixt the dame and those dumb witnesses 

Ranged 'gainst the wall with looks inscrutable. 

It was that princely soldier whom my eye 

Had marked with admiration, — a moment since 

Careless and graceful in his mien, but now 

With soul strained like a bowstring while it trembles 

Tense for the shaft. Then suddenly he ceased 

His pacings, and strode straight up to the dame, 

And on her shoulder laid a hand, and bent 

With burning eyes above her, and at her ear — 

Heard by all ears beside : " Tell me of Jane ; 

Something you said of Jenny — Jane McCrea." 

And then the answer came, but not from lips 

Of any living being. While he spoke, 

Three wild and warlike figures foul with dust. 

And soil of darker stain, came gliding in, 

And halting, rolled their snaky eyes around, — 

Silent, and weary with their forest march 

And wild work of the morning ; yet no less 

Elate with triumph cunningly concealed. 

And as the soldier turned and faced them there, 

One, a wild, brawny creature like a wolf, 

Raised a strange thing he held, shook it aloft, 

And with a red forefinger significantly 

Tapped it and smiled — a grim, ferocious smile — 

Even for a savage, grim and hideous. 

Then from behind there rose a fearful cry, 

A woman's cry of anger and despair ; 

As when a lioness returned from hunt 

iVU day, for prey to feed her little ones. 

Hungry within their covert, comes at night 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 1T5 

And scents the bodies of her Httle ones 

Slaughtered by hunters, and in rage and grief 

Peals through the woods her solitary cry. 

So cried the dame and rose, her mighty bulk 

Aquiver and her eyes aflame, her hand 

Pointing — " O see ! that is our Jenny's hair. 

O, they have slain — have slain our innocent !" 

"That thing my Jenny's hair !" these were the words 

I heard that poor bewildered lover say — 

Bewildered for a moment, but no more. 

And then there came a blow, swift, deadly, sure, 

That rolled the savage headlong to the earth. 

There like a whirlwind passed a furious strife 

Betwixt those fiery warriors white and red ; 

One bent on vengeance deadly in its aim, 

And one, with wily art and ready tact, 

Evadinor that dread issue. From side to side, 

Over and over they rolled, until the tent 

Shook, and the bearskins flew this way and that 

Among the circling spectators, disturbed 

With panic, this way dodging and then that, 

To evade the writhing bodies. Thus the fight 

Went on. And when 'twas finished there arose 

A soldier breathless, haggard, wild and torn. 

And in his hand grasped tight that ghastly thing, 

And it was piteous how on fumbling feet 

He staggered, blind and panting, through the tent 

And sank upon a seat with face bowed down 

And sunken in his hands in utter grief. 

And thus he stayed awhile ; then stirred, and passed 

His hand along his brow and o'er his face, 

And groaned aloud in mighty agony 

Of spirit. Suddenly he started up 

And groped toward the tent door till an arm 

Was lent in pity, and he leaned on that 



176 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

And passed the tent door, groaning as he passed, 
" Oh, my poor lost beloved ! my poor Jane !" 
And thus with feeble footsteps, stunned and blind, 
Tottering like age and palsy — piteously 
He passed from sight a broken, ruined man. 
And when we quit the tent at dusk that niglit, 
And passed into the moonlight, with the stars 
Above that dark and deadly wilderness 
Flashing their kindly beacons through the night, 
And the wind sighing mournful 'mid the tents. 
And the far panther screaming in the wilds — 
Upon the outmost edge of clustering tents. 
Where the black earth fell off to blacker depths 
Of dense morass and denser cedar shades, 
We saw against the red orb of the moon 
An unknown wandering figure cross our path. 
And seek the shelter of a neighboring tent. 
And as a wave of night-wind swept along 
We seemed to hear that cry disconsolate 
Pass on the night air, piercing every soul — 
"Oh, my poor lost beloved ! my poor Jane !" 

THE END. 



JANE McCREA. 
By Lura a. Boies.* 



TwAS in the gorgeous summer time. 
The vesper bells with mellow chime 

Rang out the golden day. 
Along the distant mountain's height, 
And o'er the Hudson, flashing bright, 
In purple floods of dazzling light. 

The sunset glory lay ; 

* For sketch of Miss Boies, see note, ante. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 177 

The crimson of the western fires 
Glowed redly on Fort Edward's spires, 

And deeper splendors burned, 
'Till Earth, with all her lakes and rills, 
Her waving woods and towering hills, 

To burnished gold was turned. 

I had been listening to the chimes. 
And thinking of the stirring times, 

When hill and lonely glen 
'Woke to the thunder tones of yore. 
The sounds that rolled from shore to shore. 
The deep-mouthed cannon's sullen roar. 

The tramp of mail-clad men ; 
I had been thinking of the days 
When the fierce battle's lurid blaze 

Hung like a fiery cloud 
O'er rock and river, wood and dell. 
Where now the radiant sunset fell 

And I had left the crowd. 
And sought, with hushed and reverent tread, 
That pleasant city of the dead. 

Where the wild wind-harps play, 
And pine trees wave and willows weep. 
Above her in her dreamless sleep, 

The hapless Jane McCrea. 

Silent, as if on holy ground, 

I neared that angel-guarded mound. 

Where white wings viewless wave ; 
An aged man, with hoary hair. 
And rude scars on his forehead bare, 
Was kneeling in the sunset there, 

Upon the maiden's grave. 
Was it some risen chief I saw. 
That o'er me came that breathless awe — 



178 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

Was it some warrior bold ? 
Whose hand had grasped the ringing steel, 
Whose soul had thrilled to Freedom's peal, 

In the wild strife of old ? 

With sudden tears mine eyes grew dim, 
Nearer Idrew and questioned him 

Of all the storied past ; 
Of the fierce days when roused our sires 

To the shrill trumpet's blast, 
And the red light of battle fires 

Upon our free hills lay ; 
I asked him of the green arcade, 
Where gleamed that savage chieftain's blade, 
I asked of her, the Scottish maid. 

The fated Jane McCrea ! 

Then did the veteran warrior speak, 
And down his pale and furrowed cheek 

The hot tears glistening ran ; 
Then with the old fire flashed his eye. 
His trembling tones rose clear and high. 

And thus his tale began. 

Part I. 

The booming guns of Lexington 
Had 'roused both gallant sire and son. 
And louder than the trumpet's clang 
The notes of wild alarum rang. 
The dawning light of Freedom's star 
Shone dimly in the skies afar. 
Where veiled in the black night of war 

The sun of peace went down. 
And by that faint and flickering glow 
The brave of heart and broad of brow 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 179 

Had boldly sworn they would not bow 
To England's regal crown. 

A thrill went through Columbia's soul, 
An alien sound went o'er the sea, 
Majestic as an anthem's roll, 

The Declaration of the free ! 
Earth's startled minions wondering heard, 
Britannia, to her proud heart stirr'd, 
Hurl'd back the bold, defiant word. 
And drew in wrath her flaming sword ; 
Fiercely the hostile nations met. 
And yonder sun in darkness set 

On many a fatal day ; 
In scenes of blood and carnage din, 
'Mid hissing balls the gray-haired sire 
Fought with the youthful warrior's fire 

In many a deadly fray ; 
Still 'rose the red war's fiery form. 
Still rag'd the furious battle storm. 

When Burgoyne's haughty hosts, 
Breaking the waves with mighty sweep, 
Came o'er the waters blue and deep, 

And landed on our coasts. 

Clad in the battle's bright array, 

With waving plumes and pennons gay. 

And flaming banners spread. 
And arms that in the sunlight glanced. 
Forward the British ranks advanced 

With slow and measured tread ; 
Then rose a swift and rushing sound, 
That woke the hills and shook the ground, 

Then freemen fought and fell. 
The redder gushed the crimson flood. 
Then was our land baptized in blood — 



180 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

Of all the strife that followed then, 
That thrilled the hearts of mighty men, 
Ah me ! I may not tell ! 

The spirit of that warlike age 

I feel its fires within me rage, 

My bosom heaves, my old heart swells, 

I feel it now, the evening bells 

Ring out the dying day. 
I hear the sound of martial strains, 

I hear the war-horse neigh ; 
I see the smoke of battle plains. 
The swift blood courses through my veins, 

I plunge into the fray. 
I feel the scorching, burning blaze, 
I live again those stirring days. 

The days of Jane McCrea. 

Part 11. 

'Twas morning. — Rich and radiant dyes 
Flamed in the gorgeous orient skies \^ 
Draped in the purple of his throne 
The royal sun resplendent shone. 
The broad, blue Hudson, blazing bright, 
Glowed like a line of liquid light, 
A wave of glory rippled o'er 
The hills along the eastern shore, 
And waving wood and fortress gray, 
Blushing in rosy splendor lay. 
Kissed by the red lips of the day, 
And glittering spear and lances' gleam 
Flashed back again the rising beam. 

On the broad lands beyond the wood. 
Now bright with* harvest sheaves. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 181 

The solid lines of Albion stood 

As thick as forest leaves ; 
Hot haste and consternation then 
Spread through the ranks of our bravest men, 
A clear blast rang throughout the glen, 

Louder than hunter's horn, 
And the quick tramp of hurrying feet. 
The drum's deep bass that rapid beat, 
The gathering din of swift retreat, 

Rose on the summer morn. 

From many a lowly woodland home 
Went up the cry " The foe ! they come !" 
And warm young hearts grew faint with fear. 
And little children clustered near, 

And blushing cheeks grew pale ; 
And many a form with noiseless glide 
Stole to the gallant warrior's side, 
And fluttering garments, white and fair, 
Were blent, in strange confusion there, 

With coats of burnished mail. 

Aside, that morn, from all the crowd. 

In earnest thought her young head bowed. 

The Scottish maiden stood. 
With downcast face and lips apart, 
A new joy thrilling in her heart. 
That gave her cheeks a warmer glow. 
And brought unto its stainless snow 

The quick o'ermantling blood. 
Thus stood she bound as by a spell, 

Oh, in that hour how wondrous fair! 
Around her like a glory fell 

The rich veil of her raven hair. 
The fearless spirit throbbing high 
Lit up her clear, calm hazel eye, 



182 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

And lent the face bowed meekly there 
A beauty such as angels wear. 

Oh, human love ! what strange divine, 

What strange mysterious power is thine ; 

It was thy light that inward shone 

And bound her in its radiant zone ; 

It was thy low, melodious lay 

That charmed her soul from earth away, 

Till mindless of the outward din 

She only heard the voice within, 

And listened to the silver tone. 

That whispered of the chosen one 

To whom her plighted troth was given, 

Who filled her deepest heart with heaven ! 

By thee, a willing captive led, 

The maiden knew no secret dread. 

Nor felt a boding fear; 
Nor heard the Indian's stealthy tread, 

Nor saw the danger near. 

A sudden shriek, a piercing cry, 
That seemed to rend the bending sky, 
Went up that morn so shrill and high, 
It made the sternest soldier start, 

And chilled and froze the circling blood, 
And sent it curdling to his heart, 

That still with terror stood ; 
Then rose a wild demoniac yell, 
A sound our brave men knew too well ! 

Each soul had felt the sickening fear. 
Each hand had grasped the gleaming spear, 
When on the air, distinct and clear. 
The tramp of falling hoof drew near, 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 183 

And with thin nostrils spreading wide, 
The ringing spur plunged in his side, 
With headlong fury rushing fast, 
A foaming courser darted past. 
Ha ! 'twas the chieftain held the rein 
And goaded on the steed amain, 
And one, a gentle girl, was there, 
With hazel eyes and flowing hair ; 
Grasped in his sinewy arm, and press'd 
Rudely upon his brawny chest. 

The frail form helpless lay. 
Alas ! for thee, thou captured maid. 
Oh, that some hand thy doom had stayed. 

Thou fated Jane McCrea ! 

A voice went up from mighty men, 

A loud and stirring cry. 
And the bold warrior shouted then, 

" Mount ! to the rescue fly!" 
They rose, a brave and gallant few. 
And o'er the ground the swift steeds flew, 

Winged with the lightning's speed ; 
Till in that green and shady dell, 
Where the clear waters sparkling well. 
Where towers the tall and stately pine, 
And the light falls with softer shine, 
The savage gave a fiercer yell, 

And reined his panting steed. 
Forth from the leafy woodland shades 

Leaped many a painted warrior's form, 
And brightly glanced their murderous blades, 

And wildly rose the battle's storm. 
Hot balls hissed through the summer sheen. 

And haughty plumes and crests bent low ; 



184 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

Then darker grew the fearful scene, 

And waves of blood surged to and fro. 
Before the shower of fiery hail, 
The chieftain saw his numbers fall ; 
With ire his swarthy cheeks grew pale, 
And turning from the fell strife there. 

He stood by her, the Scottish maid. 
He seized her long and flowing hair, 

And o'er her gleamed his naked blade ; 
And reeking from the tide of life, 
Back flashed the long and glittering knife ; 
A fiendish sneer upon his lip, 

A strange wild triumph in his eye, 
The chieftain saw the red blood drip. 

And held the ghastly trophy high ; 
Then round him drew his blanket-plaid, 
And plunged into the forest shade. 

The strong, stern man — the warrior true — 
Felt in his eye the gathering dew. 
When with hushed tread he nearer drew, 

To the still form beneath the pine — 
The maiden on the dewy green ; 

For ne'er did morning sunlight shine 
Upon a stranger, sadder scene. 
The warm bright life-tide's crimson flow 
Dyed deep her graceful garment's snow 
And mingled with the waters clear, 
That in the glad light sparkled near. 

The heart that thrilled to love before. 
To love's soft strain would thrill no more ; 
The light of her young life had fled. 
Too well they knew that she was dead ; 
Yet better far thus to have died 
Than to have been a Torv's bride. 



TJie Burgoyne Ballads. 185 

Now oft besides that cooling spring, 
The little children play and sing, 

And in that sylvan dell 
Full many a form of maiden grace 
Treads lightly o'er the hallowed place 

Where she, the fated, fell. 

On Saratoga's battle plains, 

Where low the British standard lay, 
The murdered maiden's gory stains, 

In British blood were washed away. 
The glory of that triumph day 
Avenged the death of Jane McCrea. 

The old man paused ; the trembling tones, 

That woke the bright unconscious tear, 
Sad as the low wind's music moans, 

Died on my rapt and listening ear. 
Then in the solemn evening time, 
When vesper bells had ceased to chime, 

And all the quiet air 
Was hushed, as if this world of ours 
Had closer clasped the trees and flowers, 
And whispered peace through all her bowers, 

And bowed her heart in prayer ; 
A hush upon my reverent soul. 
An awe that o'er my being stole, 

Mournful I turned away, 
And left the worn old soldier there, 
His white locks streaming in the air, 
The dew upon his forehead bare, 
And left the consecrated ground 
Where holy memories clustered round 

The grave of Jane McCrea. 



186 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

JANE McCREA. 
By Henry William Herbert.* 

It was brilliant autumn time — 

The most brilliant time of all, 
When the gorgeous woods are gleaming, 

Ere the leaves begin to fall ; 

* Henry William Herbert, author, born in London, 
England, April 7th, 1807; died in New York City- 
May 17th, 1858. His father, Rev. William Herbert, 
was a cousin of the Earl of Carnarvon, the nephew of 
Lady Harriet Ackland, the heroine, together with 
Mrs. General Riedesel, of " Burgoyne's Campaign." 
(See Stone's " Burgoyne's Campaign.") He graduated 
at Oxford in 1829 with high honors; but having, 
through the dishonesty of a trustee, lost his property, 
h.e came the following year to the United States, sup- 
porting himself for several years by teaching Greek 
and Latin in Newark and New York. Meanwhile, 
he added to his income by literary work for the differ- 
ent magazines and newspapers, and finally attained to a 
high degree of distinction as a writer. He wrote many 
novels and books on the game of the United States, 
under the nomde plume of Frank Forrester, all of which 
were highly praised by the literary critics. During the 
last twelve years of his life his home was near Belleville, 
N. J., and he lived here, like Charles Lee of Revolu- 
tionary fame, surrounded by his favorite dogs, of 
which he was especially fond. His end was particu- 
larly tragic, he having committed suicide by shooting 
himself, after a dinner to which he had invited his 
particular friends. A movement (1893) has been set 
on foot to erect a monument to his memory. At 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 187 

When the maple boughs are crimson, 
And the hickory shines like gold, 

And the noons are sultry hot, 
And the nights are frosty cold. 

When the country has no green, 

Save the sword-grass by the rill. 
And the willows in the valley, 

And the pine upon the hill ; 
When the pippin leaves the bough, 

And the sumach's fruit is red, 
And the quail is piping loud 

From the buckwheat where he fed. 

When the sky is blue as steel. 

And the river clear as glass ; 
When the mist is on the mountain, 

And the net-work on the grass ; 
When the harvests all are housed. 

And the farmer's work is done, 
And the stubbles are deserted 

For the fox-hound and the pfun. 

It was brilliant autumn time 

When the army of the north, 
With its cannon and dragoons. 

And its riflemen, came forth ; 
Through the country all abroad 

There was spread a mighty fear 
Of the Indians in the van, 

And the Hessians in the rear. 



present a plain stone marks his grave in the Mount 
Pleasant Cemetery, and on it is carved, according to 
his'wishes, the word Infelicissimus — a word the signi- 
fication of which is a most sad commentary on his life. 



188 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

There was spread a mighty terror, 

And the bravest souls were faint ; 
For the shaven chiefs were mustered, 

In their scalp-locks and their paint; 
And the forest was alive — 

And the tramp of warrior men 
Scared the eagle from his eyry, 

And the gray wolf from his den. 

For the bold Burgoyne was marching— 
With his thousands marching down. 

To do battle with the people- 
To do battle for the crown. 

But Stark he lay at Bennington, 
By the Hoosic's river bright. 

And Arnold and his forces 

Gathered thick on Bemis' height* 

Fort Edward on the Hudson, 

It was guarded night and day, 
By Van Vechten and his woodmen — 

Bright sturdy woodmen they ! 
Fort Edward on the Hudson, 

It was guarded day and night, 
Oh ! but in the early morning 

It saw a bitter sight ! 

A bitter sight, and fearful, 

And a shameful deed of blood ! 
All the plain was cleared around. 

But the slopes were thick with wood ; 
And a mighty pine stood there, 

On the summit of the hill, 

* For the correct spelling of the name of Bemis, see 
Appendix No. III. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 189 

And a bright spring rose beneath it, 
With a low and liquid trill ; 

And a little way below, 

All with vine boughs overrun, 
A white-walled cot was sleeping — 

There that shameful deed was done ! 
Oh ! it was the blithest morning 

In the brilliant autumn time ; 
The sun shone never brighter, 

When the year was in its prime. 

But a maiden fair was weeping 

In that cottage day by day. 
Woe she was and worn with watching 

For her true love far away. 
He was bearing noble arms, 

Noble arms for England's king ! 
She was watching, sad and tearful, 

Near the pine tree, near the spring !* 

Weary waiting for his coming — 
Yet she feared not ; for she knew 



* Until 1855 there stood a clump of primeval giant 
pines on the rise of a knoll just at the left of the 
highway leading from Fort Edward to Sandy Hill, 
N. Y., from the roots of which issued an unfailing spring. 
By indisputable and unvaried tradition underneath 
these pines the hapless Jane McCrea was massacred. 
About this time Mr. George Harvey, the then owner 
of this classic site, caused the last surviving pine to be 
turned into canes, as souvenirs of this incident in the 
Burgoyne campaign. 



190 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

That her lover's name would guard her, 
That her lover's heart was true. 

True he was ; nor did forget, 

As he marched the wildwoods through. 

Her to whom his troth was plighted 
By the Hudson's waters blue* 



* Mrs. Rachael Ayrs Cook, widow of Ransom 
Cook, who died at her home in Saratoga aged ninety- 
two years, was one of the last surviving links that 
bound the present with what was one of the most 
romantic and decisive incidents of the American Revo- 
lution. She was the daughter of Robert Ayrs, a Loy- 
alist settler in what is now the town of Saratoga 
Springs, about midway between this village and Ball- 
ston. It was her father, Robert Ayrs, who carried the 
message to Jennie McCrea in Fort Edward from her 
Loyalist lover, Lieutenant David Jones, in Burgoyne's 
army, encamped on the highlands to the north, re- 
questing her to join him in the camp. It was while 
Jennie was on her way to meet her lover that she was 
tomahawked and scalped by the savage Iroquois chief 
Le Loup, and that event led many of the Loyalist set- 
tlers, including Robert Ayrs himself, to join the patriot 
army under General Gates at Bemis Heights, and 
materially aided in the defeat of Burgoyne. Robert 
Ayrs continued to reside until his death on the farm 
where his daughter, Mrs. Cook (who was the last sur- 
vivor of his family), was born, and he is buried in the 
old village cemetery at Ballston Spa. Her husband, 
Ransom Cook, was the builder and first agent and 
warden of the State prison at Dannemora. He was 
also the inventor of the brace and bit, which brought 
him and the family a large fortune. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 191 

He bethought him of the madness 

And the fury of the strife ; 
He bethought him of the peril 

To that dear and precious life, 
So he called an Indian chief, 

In his paint and war-array — 
Oh ! it was a cursed thought. 

And it was a luckless day. 

*'^'Go !" he said, " and seek my lady, 

By Fort Edward, where she lies; 
Have her hither to the camp ! 

She shall prove a worthy prize !" 
And he charged him with a letter, 

With a letter to his dear, 
Bidding her to follow freely. 

And that she should nothing fear 

Lightly, brightly, rose the sun ; 

High his heart, and full of mirth ; 
Gray and gloomy closed the night; 

Steamy mists bedewed the earth, 
Thence he never ceased to sorrow. 

Till his tedious life was o'er — 
For that night he thought to see her ; 

But he never saw her more. 

By the pine tree on the hill. 

Armed men were at their post, 
While the early sun was low, 

Watching for the royal host. 
Came a rifle's sudden crack ! 

Rose a wild and fearful yell ! 
Rushed the Indians from the brake ! 

Fled the guard, or fought and fell ! 



192 The Biirgoyne Ballads. 

Fought and fell ! and fiercely o'er them 

Rose the hideous death hallo ! 
One alone was spared of all — 

Wounded he, and pinioned too ! 
He it was the deed that saw, 

As he lay the spring beside — 
Had his manly arms been free, 

He had saved her, or had died ! 

Up the hill he saw them lead her, 

And she followed free from fear — 
And her beauty blazed the brighter, 

As she deemed her lover near — 
He could read the joyous hope 

Sparkling in her sunny eyes — 
Lo ! the sudden strife ! the rage ! 

They are battling for the prize ! 

Guns are brandished — ^knives are drawn ! 

Flashed the death-shot, flew the ball ! 
By the chief who should have saved her, 

Did the lovely victim fall. 
Fell, and breathed her lover's name, 

Blessed him with her latest sigh, 
Happier than he surviving. 

Happier was she to die. 

Then the frantic savage seized her 

By the long and flowing hair. 
Bared the keen and deadly knife. 

Whirled aloft the tresses fair — 
Yelled in triumph and retreated. 

Bearing off" that trophy dread — 
Think of him who sent them forth ! 

Who received it — reeking red ! 



ITie Bv/rgoyne Ballads. 193 

He received it, cold as stone, 

With a ghastly, stupid stare, 
Shook not, sighed not, questioned not — 

Oh ! he knew that yellow hair 1 
And he never smiled again, 

Nor was ever seen to weep ; 
And he never spoke to name her, 

Save when muttering in his sleep ! 

Yet he did his duty well. 

With a chill and cheerless heart ; 
But he never seemed to know it, 

Though he played a soldier's part. 
Years he lived — for grief kills not — 

But his very life was dead ; 
Scarcely died he any more 

When the clay was o'er his head ! 

Would ye further learn of her ? 

Visit then the fatal spot ! 
There no monument they raised. 

Storied stones they sculptured not ; 
But the mighty pine is there — 

Go, and ye may see it still, 
Gray and ghostly, but erect, 

On the summit of the hill ; 

And the little fount wells out. 

Cold and clear beneath its shade, 
Cold and clear as when beside it 

Fell that young and lovely maid. 
These shall witness for the tale, 

How, on that accursed day, 
Beauty, innocence, and youth 

Died in hapless Jane McCrea. 



194 The Burgoyne BaUads. 

REFLECTIONS AT THE GRAVE OF JANE 
McCREA* 

And thus it is, 
The bright and beautiful, and wise, 
The puling youngster, and the gray-haired sage, 
Manhood and youth, and infancy and age. 
Alike yield up their struggling, passing breath — 
Alike are subject to the grim fiend Death. 

Alike, yet not alike, 
For I wist not, that it is death to strike 
The sudden blow, beneath some summer flower. 
And then transplant it into soil more pure, 
That it may waste its fragrant sweetness where 
More rare exotics bloom and scent the air. 

A lowly mound, 
But marked from those that's gathered round, 
Qy slab unstoried all, and neither tells^ 
The name, nor worth, nor fame, of her that dwells 
Beneath the sod, within the grave's dark gloom, 
Our last-sought resting-place,, and common doom. 

She fell by hands 
Of savage violence ; — the gleaming brands 
Of war were gathered far, and near around 
And seeking love she fell ; — the lover found 
Was Death ; and in one long embrace. 
With icy lips, he pressed her marble face. 

Fort Edward, Nov. 5, 1842. 



* The above lines were written for, and published in, 
e Saratoga Sentin 
author is unknown. 



the Saratoga Senttjiel at the date herein named. The 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 195 



JANE McCREA. 

Read on the One Htmdredth Anniversary of the 
Massacre of Jane McCrea, July 27, 1877. 

By Joseph E. King* 

What is to-day — is only what hath been, 
" One touch of Nature makes us all akin." 



* Rev. Joseph E. King was born in Laurens, Otsego 
County, N. Y., November 30th, 1823 ; the son of Rev. 
Elijah King, a Methodist clergyman, and a member of 
the old Genesee Conference. 

At the age of thirteen, for a few months in a dry goods 
store in Albany, he then rejoined the family, who 
" vyent west," as far as Girard, Erie County, Pa., where, 
with an interval of a single term only in a select school, 
he was kept at the business of clerking in the village 
store until the age of seventeen. At this period the desire 
for better educational advantages so inflamed him that 
he wrote to his parents an argument of four pages of 
foolscap, which quite convinced them that he must be 
permitted and encouraged to prepare for and go 
through college. The preparation was at once begun 
at the Grand River Institute, Austinburgh, Ohio, 
whither the family moved, to make for him a home. 

The student, in 1843, entered Poultney Academy, 
N. Y., then under Rev. Jesse T. Peck (now Bishop), 
to prepare for advanced standing in college. In 1844 
admitted to the sophomore class in Wesleyan Univer- 
sity, he took rank among the foremost of his class, de- 
spite the fact that he had to be absent each winter in 
the Grammar School of Glastenbury, which he taught. 
In his senior year he was elected to the Phi Beta 



196 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

Love well befits the poet's lofty rhyme, 
No fairer blossom on the trees of Time. 

Kappa, graduating from Wesleyan in 1847, i^ the 
class which produced Orange Judd, Senator Cole, of 
California, and Bishop Andrews. 

In 1848 he was made principal of the seminary at 
Newbury, Vt. Though among his predecessors had 
been such men as Rev. Doctors Hinman, Adams and 
Hoyt, and Bishop Osman C. Baker, yet during the 
reign of Professor King this seminary enjoyed its 
highest intellectual and financial prosperity. He paid 
its debts, reconstructed its chapel and class-rooms, 
built its public fountain, and brought the roll of its 
adult students up to 325 in attendance at the time of 
his retiring in November, 1853. 

Accepting a call to his native State, he assumed the 
principalship of Fort Plain Seminary, N. Y., and in 
November, 1853, five days after his term closed at New- 
bury, he opened its first term — all its rooms filled with 
students. During this year at Fort Plain, beside the 
lecturing of his position, his register shows that he 
preached 59 times in 23 different pulpits. 

It being in contemplation to erect at Fort Edward 
an institution on a grander scale than any existing 
boarding seminary, the principal of Fort Plain Semi- 
nary was invited to visit the town, with a view to give 
his advice in the proposed enterprise. In connection 
with Rev. Henry B. Taylor he matured the plans, as- 
sisted at the laying of the corner-stone in May, 1854, 
and was induced to assume the principalship of Fort Ed- 
ward Institute for a term of loyears. December 7, 1 854, 
he opened the first term with 500 students in attend- 
ance, and during the 23 years of its subsequent history 
he has been its sole principal, registering over 10,000 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 197 

Trampled and bruised, its fragrance yet appears 
Despite the havoc of a hundred years ! 

different names, hailing from over 33 of the States of 
the Union. Many of his students have taken conspic- 
uous places among the successful men and women of 
this generation. Over 100 of his students joined in 
the war for maintaining the Union, of whom 18 gave 
their lives that the nation might not die. A few of 
his young men also fought on the Confederate side. 
He has sent out 165 clergymen of the various denomi- 
nations, of whom already 12 have become Doctors of 
Divinity. The lawyers and physicians have been 
almost as numerous. 

In 1862 Union College conferred the degree of 
D.D. upon Professor King, and in 1873 the Regents 
of the University of New York, in recognition of his 
efficiency as an educator, conferred upon him the 
degree of Ph.D. 

In the discharge of his duties as principal of Fort 
Edward Institute, he has lectured before the faculty 
and students over 300 times, and has found leisure to 
deliver outside the walls of the Institute 210 lectures 
and addresses, besides having preached 1032 sermons 
in 182 different pulpits. From the sessions of the 
conference of clergymen of which he is a member, he 
has never been absent for a day. In 1864 he was 
elected by his brethren a delegate to the General 
Conference of the M. E. Church at Philadelphia, 
having also enjoyed the honor of serving as a delegate 
to the General Conference of 1856, representing the 
Vermont Conference, from which he was transferred 
to the Troy Conference, on a vote of that conference 
requesting it. For two weeks he served as acting 
delegate in the General Conference at Chicago, in 1868. 



198 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

We greet with reverent tenderness to-day 
The fond and true, the martyr'd Jane McCrea. 

Behold the picture — blond and passing fair, 
With twenty summers in her golden hair. 
The winsome graces of old Scotia's blood 
Blooming afresh in her bright maidenhood. 
To see her was to love, and one that saw 
Deemed it no violence to Nature's law 
To woo and win her as his promised bride, 
Elect to him o'er all the world beside. 

Once he has been called upon to address the Alumni 
of his college, once to deliver the oration before the 
convention of Psi Upsilon — his college fraternity — and 
twice to deliver the annual poem at Psi Upsilon 
conventions. 

In 1867 he gave himself a special vacation of about 
three months abroad; again in 1889, chiefly in the 
British Isles, France and Belgium. 

By way of recreation from the severer routine of 
his educational and spiritual tasks, he enjoys helping 
with his presence and counsels the various institutions 
and corporations in which he takes an interest. Be- 
sides being a working trustee in Fort Edward Institute, 
he is also a trustee or a director in the following cor- 
porations: Wesleylan University, Syracuse Univer- 
sity, Round Lake Camp Meeting Association, Me- 
chanic ville Academy, the Union Cemetery Associa- 
tion, the National Bank of Fort Edward, two banks 
in Iowa, and the Glens Falls Insurance Association. 

He aims to set the example to his young men of 
rarely being absent from the primary meetings of his 
political party, from the home councils of his church 
or the convocations of his fellow-workers in the cause 
of education. 



The JBurgoyne Ballads. 199 

What though the fates, unequal or malign, 

Had cast his lot within the British line ? 

Can love be gauged by rules of trade or war ? 

Not Mercury or Mars is man's true ruling star; 

When Venus rises, turns each heart to her, 

Savage or saint, a willing worshipper. 

The patriot maiden pledged her willing troth 

To country and to lover — true to both — 

And felt no discord in her evening prayer 

That heaven the one might bless, the other spare. 

Nor may we blame our heroine of yore, 

If not the less our cause, she loved her hero more. 

A message comes : " Why should this dreadful strife 
Rob me of mine ? Thou art my promised wife ? 
The guide is safe, thou'lt reach the camp ere night. 
Then I'll protect thee in a husband's right." 

Between two camps, awaiting mortal strife, 
Why need she fear ? Love bears a charmed life. 
Coyly emerging from yon mansion's side, 
With springing step she joined the savage guide. 
Girt for the perils of the path she trod. 
In maiden innocence and faith in God. 
The breeze, fair girl, that fans your cheek to-day 
Toyed with her tresses on her blithesome way ; 
The bee saluted with his tiny horn, 
Waved in the noontide rays the tasselled corn ; 
The flowers grew brighter underneath her tread. 
Bluer the arching sky above her head. 

The hill was gained. Sudden, the startled guide 
Clutched at the girl, now trembling at his side. 
A skirmish rages from the opposing lines, 
And maddened chiefs contend beneath the pines. 
In vain she seeks to flee ! A fatal blow 
Pierces her brain. And tTien the fiendish foe, 



200 Hie Burgoyne Ballads. 

As sinks the wretched maiden limp and dead, 
Tears off the golden glory from her fallen head ! 
A thousand curses on that savage hate, 
To murder first, and then to mutilate ! 
Plead beauty, youth and innocence, that day, 
But plead in vain for hapless Jane McCrea. 
The ruthless fiend, his task yet incomplete, 
Dashed down the bloody trophy at her lover's feet. 
Unpitying Indian! Heaven shall pay thee back, 
Its heavy vengeance marks henceforth thy track. 
Pushed ever towards the still receding west 
Thy wasting tribes shall plead in vain for rest. 

For ker, what heart withholds a votive sigh } 
Poor trampled flower that in the dust doth lie ! 
Denied her woman's rightful place in life, 
To rule her home, a proud and happy wife, 
Yet Heaven doth martyred innocence befriend. 
And in her fadeless fame a compensation send. 
How many gallant youths rushed forth to join 
The patriot ranks, and crush the proud Burgoyne ! 
Ten thousand men, at Saratoga's day. 
Struck home for " liberty and Jane McCrea." 
Had love coursed smoothly o'er life's pebble stones, 
Long since forgot, as ''Mrs. David Jones /' 
Forgot, with every other humble name, 
That time erases from the lists of fame. 
Now, all the world beholds, serene and fair, 
'Graved in the azure of the upper air. 
And reads in capitals of flame to-day 
One only name, the gentle Jane McCrea. 
And David Jones, forsooth, despite his British pride, 
Gains fadeless laurels through his Yankee bride. 
They're gone ! all gone ! in vain we search around 
Where armies trampled this historic ground ; 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 201 

Fields rent and scarred by war retain no trace, 
Which Time's all-lev'ling touch cannot efface. 
Of yonder fort, which saw a nation's birth. 
Remains alone a ridge of common earth. 
Still flows the rippling river to the sea, 
The type of loving woman's constancy ; 
And on its banks do other forts arise, 
Churches and schools, the States' best armories. 

Nigh to our martyrs' monumental stone 
Is "try sting tree,'' to village youths well known ; 
'Tis there, when lovers plight their sacred troth, 
Her guardian presence comes to bless them both. 

The hillside pines which saw her fall that day 

Themselves have fallen, victims of decay ; 

But from their roots there flows a living spring. 

Whose clear, cool waters, gently murmuring 

In sweet and mournful cadence, seem to say. 

Here fell the fair and fond but hapless Jane McCrea. 

THE TRAGICAL DEATH OF MISS JANE 

McCREA, 

Who was scalped and inhumanly butchered by a scout- 
ing party of Burgoyne s army on his way toward 

Albany. 

By Rev. Wheeler Case. 

As I was passing thro' a certain wood 

I heard a doleful noise ; surpris'd I stood — 

I lent a list'ning ear— but oh, what moans ! 

The woods all rang with shrieks and dying groans. 

Upon a rising ground I cast my eye 

And saw a scouting party passing by. 

Some British troops, combined with Indian bands, 

With swords, with knives and tom'hawks in their hands. 



202 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

They gave a shout and pass'd along the road, 

Like beasts of prey in quest of human blood. 

I mov'd along where I had heard the cries, 

And lo ! a bloody scene salutes my eyes ; 

Here lies an aged man, roll'd in his gore, 

And from his hoary head his scalp is tore. 

There lies a woman dead, all gashed her face, 

A sucking babe just dropp'd from her embrace. 

There lies the slaughter d infant on a clod. 

Its head all bruis'd and face besmear'd with blood. 

As I advanced along, before me lay 

A lady richly dress'd, her name McCrea ; 

Stretch'd on the ground, and struggling there with 

death, 
She cannot live, she must resign her breath. 
The cursed Indian knife, the cruel blade, 
Had cut her scalp, they'd tore it from her head ; 
The blood is gushing forth from all her veins, 
With bitter groans and sighs she tells her pains. 
Is this that blooming fair, is this McCrea f 
This was appointed for her nuptial day. 
Instead of smiles, and a most brilliant bride. 
Her face besmear'd with blood, her raiment dyed. 
Instead of pleasure and transporting joys, 
There's naught but dying groans and bitter sighs ; 
For, overvvhelm'd with grief, alas ! I faint ; 
It is too much for language e'er to paint. 
Would heav'n admit of tears her rev'rend sire* 
Would now look down and o'er her drop a tear ; 
A flood of tears down from his eyes would flow 
O'er his dear child, touch'd with her fatal woe. 
Methinks he now attempts to speak — too full, 
With sighs he tells the anguish of his soul. 

* The Rev. Mr. McCrea of New Jersey. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 203 

In broken accents now I hear him say, 

Is this the plant I raised ? Is this McCrea f 

Is this my Jenny roll'd in blood I see, 

Whom I caress'd and dandled on my knee ? 

If e'er she was in pain I felt the smart. 

If but her finger ach'd, it pained my heart. 

But now she's mangled with the Indian knife, 

With groans and sighs she's breathing out her life. 

Oh, cruel savages ! what hearts of steel ! 

Oh, cruel Brito7is who no pity feel ! 

Where did they get the knife, the cruel blade ? 

From Britain it was sent where it was made. 

The tom'hawk and the murdering knife were sent 

To barb'rous savages for this intent. 

Yes, they were sent e'en from the British throne. 

Is this for acts of duty I have done ? 

How oft have I address'd the throne of Grace 

For Britain's king and all his rising race ! 

How oft with tears, that God would be their friend, 

That peace and happiness might them attend ! 

No fiction this, the muse hath seen him stand 
With eyes erect, and with uplifted hands 
Within the sacred desk ; she'd heard him plead 
For Britain s king and all the royal seed ; 
How oft, with earnest cries and flowing tears, 
For blessings on the king and all his heirs. 

JANE McCREA. 

By Joel Barlow.* 

One deed shall tell what fame great Albion draws 
From those auxiliars in her bar'brous cause — 

* Joel Barlow, author, born in Redding, Conn., 
March 24th, 1754 ; died near Cracow, Poland, Decem- 



204 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

Lucinda's fate. The tale ye nations hear ; 
Eternal ages trace it with a tear. 

[In searching for her lover, who is designated by 
the name of Heartly in the narrative, and from whom 
she has become separated, she strays into the woods, 
and he in turn begins a search for her.] 

He hurries to his tent ; oh, rage ! despair ! 
No glimpse, no tidings of the frantic fair ; 
Save that some car-men, as a-camp they drove, 
Had seen her coursing for the western grove. 
Faint with fatigue, and chok'd with burning thirst. 
Forth from his friends with bounding leap he burst, 
Vaults o'er the palisade, with eyes on flame, 
And fills the welkin with Lucinda's name. 

ber 24th, 18 1 2. Graduated from Yale in 1778, deliver- 
ing the commencement poem, " Prospect of Peace" 
(published in "American Poems," Litchfield, Conn., 
1793). In 1787 he published at Hartford his epic 
poem, " The Vision of Columbus," which made him 
famous, and afterward his most popular poem, the 
" Hasty Pudding." He was United States Consul at 
Algiers in 1795. He resided afterward for eight 
years at Paris, living the life of a man of letters, and 
writing there his poem, " The Columbiad," and making 
extensive preparations for a history of the American 
Revolution and one work on the French Revolution. 
He was also, like Freneau, one of the most prolific and 
famous writers of the Revolutionary period. He 
introduces the subject of the Jane McCrea massacre 
as above, presenting Jane McCrea under the name of 
" Lucinda." In a note accompanying the poem, the 
author states that the tragical story of Miss McCrea is 
narrated almost literally. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 205 

The fair one, too, of every aid forlorn, 
Had raved and wandered, till officious morn 
Awaked the Mohawks from their short repose, 
To glean the plunder ere their comrades 'rose. 
Two Mohawks met the maid — historian, hold ! 
Alas ! that such a tale should e'er be told. 

She starts — with eyes upturn'd and fleeting breath. 
In their raised axes views her instant death, 
Her hair, half lost along the shrubs she passed. 
Rolls in loose tangles 'round her lovely waist ; 
Her kerchief torn betrays the globes of snow. 
That heave responsive to her weight of woe. 

With calculating pause and demon grin 

They seize her hands, and through her face divine 

Drive the descending axe ! — The shriek she sent 

Attained her lover's ear ; he thither bent 

With all the speed his wearied limbs could yield, 

Whirled his keen blade, and stretched upon the field 

The yelling fiends, who there disputing stood 

Her gory scalp, their horrid prize of blood ! 

He sank, delirious on her lifeless clay, 

And passed in starts of sense, the dreadful day. 



LINES ON JANE McCREA. 

By Mrs. Sarah J. Hale.* 

Oh ! very beautiful was she, 
A loveliness most rare to see. 

* Mrs. Sarah Josepha Hale, authoress, born in New- 
port, N. H., October 24th, 1788; died in Philadelphia 



206 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

Her eyes were like the ethereal hue 
From Chimborazo's skyward view, 
When stars begin to tremble through, 
And not a vapor dims the blue ; 
And clustering curls of soft blonde hair* 
Around her throat and shoulders flow, 
Like morning light on mountain snow ; 
And face so delicately fair ! 

April 30th, 1879. She edited the Ladies' Magazine, 
in Boston, which she conducted till 1837. ^"^ that 
year it was united with GodeyS Lady's Book, pub- 
lished in Philadelphia, and Mrs. Hale became editor 
of that periodical, removing to that city in 1841. She 
was chiefly instrumental in raising funds to complete the 
Bunker Hill Monument, and also in bringing about 
the change of Thanksgiving Day from a State festival 
to a National one — President Lincoln being the first 
one to adopt her suggestion, in 1864. She is the 
author of many works and poems, among the latter 
of which are the well-known cries of " Mary's Lamb'^ 
and " It Snows." 

* Although Jenny's hair was said to have been 
" dark as a raven's wing," yet she has also been de- 
scribed by those who knew her as " a young woman of 
fine commanding form, rare beauty, delicate blonde 
complexion, and glossy, golden-brown hair of silken 
lustre and of unusual length." The weight of evidence 
and the probabilities, it must be said, are largely in 
favor of the description as above quoted. Nor must 
it be forgotten that Jenny was of pure Scotch blood, 
and the Scotch are noted the world over for their fair 
complexion, blue qjq^, and light hair. Mrs. Hale is, 
therefore, probably entirely correct in describing her 
2& a blonde. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 207 

'Twas like a lily newly blown, 
Or like the breathing Parian stone, 
Softened by a heart within, 
Sending love-light through the skin ! 
Ay ! the soul's transparent vase 
Seemed that pure, pale, loving face. 



BALLADS ON THE BATTLE OF ORISKANY. 



ORISKANY. 

By General J. Watts de Peyster* 

Old Seventeen hundred and Seventy-seven, 
Of Liberty's throes, was the crown and the leaven. 
Just a century since, August Sixth, was the day 
When Great Britain's control was first stricken away. 
Let us sing then the field where the Yeomen of York 
Met the Lion and Wolf on their slaughterous stalk ; 
When Oriskany's ripples were crimson'd with blood ; 
And when strife fratricidal polluted its flood. 
Oh, glorious collision, forever renowned ! 
While America lives should its praises resound, 
And stout Harkeimer's name be the theme of the song. 
Who with Mohawk's brave sons broke the strength 
of the strong. 

To relief of Fort Stanwix New Yorkers drew nigh, 
To succor stout Gansevoort, conquer or die ; 
And if unwise the counsels that brought on the fight. 
In the battle was shown that their hearts were all right 
If theif chief seemed so prudent that " subs" looked 

askance, 
Still one shout proved their feeling, their courage — 

" Advance !" 
Most unfortunate counsel ! The ambush was set, 
Leaving one passage in but none out of the net, — 
Of outlets, not one, unless 'twas made by the sword, 
Through encompassing ranks of the pitiless horde. 

* For sketch of General de Peyster, see Appendix 
No. VII. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 209 

Sure never was column so terribly caught, 

Nor ever has column more fearlessly fought : 

Thus Harkeimer's Mohawkers made victory theirs, 
For St. Leger v^as foiled in spite of his snares. 

The loud braggarts who'd taunted Harkeimer so free, 
Ere the fight had begun, were from fight first to flee;' 
While the stalwart old chief, who a father had proved, 
And his life offered up for the cause that he loved, 
'Mid the war-whirl of Death still directed each move, 
'Mid the rain from the clouds and from more fatal 

groove 
Of the deadlier rifle, — and object assured. 
To him Palm, both as victor and martyr, inured. 

Search the annals of War and examine with care 
If a parallel fight can discovered be, there. 
When eight hundred green soldiers beset in a wood 
Their assailants, as numerous, boldly withstood ; 
And while death sleeted in from environing screens 

Of the forest and underbrush, Indians and "Greens" 

'Gainst the circle without, took to cover within. 
Formed a circle as deadly — which as it grew thin 
Into still smaller circles then broke, until each 
Presented a roimd that no foeman could breach, 

Neither boldest of savage nor disciplined troops : 

Thus they fought and they fell in heroical groups 

But though falling still fighting they wrench'd from 

the foe 
The great object they marched to attain, and altho' 
The whole vale of the Mohawk was shrouded in woe. 
Fort Stanwix was saved by Oriskany's throe. 

No New Birth, no advance in the Progress of Man, 
Has occurred since the tale of his suft'rings began, 
Without anguish unspeakable, deluge of blood. 



210 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 



The Past's buried deep 'neath incarnadine flood. 
So, when, at Oriskany, slaughter had done 
Its fell work with the tomahawk, hunting-knife, gun ; 
From the earth soaked with blood, and the whirlwind 

of fire 
Rose the living's reward and the fallen's desire. 
Independence ! 

For there on Oriskany's shore. 
Was fought out the death-wrestle deciding the war ! 

If our country is free and its flag, first displayed 
On the ramparts of Stanwix, in glories arrayed ; 
If the old " Thirteen Colonies" won the renown 
''Sic semper tyrannis /" beat Tyranny down ; 
There, there, at Oriskany, the wedge first was driven. 
By which British invasion was splintered and riven. 
Though at Hoosic and " Saratog" the work was com- 
pleted, 
The end was made clear with St. Leger defeated ; 
Nor can boast be disproved, on Oriskany's shore 
Was worked out the grim problem involved in the 
war. 



3. Pie Sdjiadjt tjon ©dskanij. 

By Gen. J. Watts de Petsteb. 
3n8 ©cutfc^e fl6erfe^t eon SOJ art e aS 1 6 b e. 



When through dense woods primeval 

hower'd, 
A perfect hail of bullets shower'd, 
Where hold Thayendanega tower'd— 
Good old Harkeimer prov'd no coward, 
Commanding at Oriskany. 

True to his Teuton lineage, 
Foremost amidst the battle's rage, 
As hold in fight, in council sage, 
Most glorious as he quit the stage 
Of life, by the Oriskany. 



3ll§ bur^ beS UrwalbS tauB'gen ®ang 
Gtnji prajfelnb JJugelregcn brang — 
SBo SE^a^enbanega'^ SRii^nt crtlang — 
®a icarb aui^ §arteinier nic^t bang', 
®em g-u^rer »on OviStan^. 

JEreu bent teutDnlfct)=ebIcn Slut 
Scran in beS (SefedjteS SButft, 
3m iKatf)c Hug, tnt SJantpf Bott 33Jut^ 
Unb ru^mrei(!^, ba er enbltc^ ruttt 
ajom ©treitc Bet DrtSIan?. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 



211 



Altho' lie felt the mortal wound, 
Though fell in swathes his soldiers round, 
Propp'd 'gainst his saddle, on the ground, 
He calmly smok'd, gave counsel sound, 
'Mid war- whirl at Oriskany. 

War never fiercer sight has seen 
Than when Sir Johnson's cohort green 
Charg'd on the Mohawk Eangers keen : 
The sole such strife Almanza* 'd been 
As that on the Oriskany. 

New York's bold yeomen, Watts at head, 
Breasted meet foes — New Yorkers bred, 
There, eye to eye, they fought, stabb'd, 

bled, 
Bosom to bosom strove, fell dead 
In ambush of Oriskany. 

Alone can Berwick's shudder tell, 
What fury rul'd that moment fell 
When Frenchman's steel hiss'd French- 
man's knell : 
Horrent made the sole parallel 
To battle of Oriskany. 

Teeth with like frantic fury set. 
There Frank died on Frank's bayonet- 
Here neighbor death from neighbor 

met,— 
With kindred blood both fields were wet, 
Almanza and Oriskany. 

And, ceas'd the storm whose rage had 

vied. 
With ruthless shock of fratricide, 
There lay the Mohawk Valley's pride 
Just as they fought, stark, side by side, 
Along the red Oriskany. 

Though neither force could triumph claim 
In war's dread, dazzling, desp'rate game, 
Enkindled there, the smould'ring flame 
Of freedom blaz'd, to make thy name 
All glorious, Oriskany. 



(Sr fa§ getroffen, tobcSttJunb, 
(Stn §eer Bon 5Eobten urn t^n runb, 
3m ©attel aufgeftii|t am (Srunb, 
©a6 raud)enb atat^, ber fcrngefunb, 
3m S'rtegg=©turm oon DriSfan^. 

JfJie y^Iug ein ^cer fo grimmig b'rcln, 
2116 ba ©tr So^nfonS gn'tne 9Jel^'n, 
SSilb brangen auf ble aJtDt)att)!8 ein ! 
63 tann SHmanja'S * ©treit aEetn 
©i^ meffen mtt OrfSton^. 

3Jera=gorfer CanbBoIt jte^t inS gelb 
aScn aSattS gefa^rt unb bt(^t gefcitt, 
®crt 58ruft an SSruft iium Eampf gefleUt, 
SDJanc^ ein 9Jen)=3Jorter tlutenb fSUt 
3m aSor^alt Bon DrlStang. 



5Rur 58etn3tc£'§ ©^aubcr fagt e8 Hai, 
2Ble grauS ber Stag beS ©(^redenS rear, 
®a granjmann f(^Iug tie etg'ne ©c^aar, 
§orrent nur Bot ein (Sletc^eS bar, 
SEBie ble ©c^Iai^t »on DrtSfan^. 



$ler 3<i^t um 3«5"/ S^^ti^ jornentSrannt, 
®er granjmann jiarb burc^ frinJ'fi^e §anb, 
®er 9?a(^6ai: ftel, too SKaii^Bar ftanb, 
Unb ffirubcrblut burc^ni^t ben ©anb, 
Hlmanja unb DrlStanij. 



Unb alS bc8 ©turmeS SoDen ru^t, 
®er Srubcrmorb entfai^t mit aSut^, 
Sag aUo^awt 5El)aIe§ ©tolj Im Slut, 
®l^t rcle fie fo^ten, parf unb gut, 
Singg bem rotten Drl^fon^. 



DB Sfetnem ntarb beS ©legeS Slel 
3m Klnen S?ampfe3 ©^auerfplel, 
®er gret^elt glamme, ble Bcrfiel, 
©rjianb unb ma(^te ru^mrelc^ Blel 
®en SiJanien son DriSfan^. 



* S)le ©^tac^t Bon aUraanja, auf rcel^e ^Icr Sejug genommcn tttrb, fanb 1707 jffilfi^en ben 
Sruppen 2ub»tg3 XIV. unter bem graufamen ^erjog Bon SBerreW gegen ble Eamlfarben unter 
(SaBaltet {iatt. 



BALLADS ON THE BATTLE OF ORISKANY. 



PMAN TO ORISKANY. 
By Rev. Charles Downes Helmer, D.D. 

Beleaguered men of Stanvvix, brave as those 
Who faced a million of their foes 

At old Thermopylae ; 
Good cheer to you upon the wild frontier ! 
For citizens in arms draw near 

Across Oriskany. 

But hark ! amidst the forest shades the crash 
Of arms, the savage yell — with flash 

Of gory tomahawk ; 
For Johnson's Royal-Greens, and Leger's men, 
And Brant's Red Fiends, are in that glen 

Of dark Oriskany. 

From down the valley, where the Mohawk flows, 
Were hurrying on to meet their foes 

The patriot yeomanry ; 
For Gansevoort within his fortress lay, 
In peril and besieged that day. 

Beyond Oriskany. 

As men who fight for home and child and wife. 
As men oblivious of life 

In holy martyrdom, 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 213 

The Yeomen of the Valley fought that day, 
Throughout thy fierce and deadly fray — 
Blood-red Oriskany. 

From rock and tree and clump of twisted brush 
The hissing gusts of battle rush — 

Hot breathed and horrible ! 
The roar, and smoke, like mist on stormy seas, 
Sweep through thy splintered trees — 

Hard-fought Oriskany. 

Heroes are born in such a chosen hour ; 
From common men they rise and tower, 

Like thee, brave Herkimer ! 
Who wounded, steedless, still beside the beech 
Cheered on thy men, with sword and speech, 

In grim Oriskany. 

Now burst the clouds above the battle roar, 
And from the pitying skies down pour 

Swift floods tumultuous ; 
Then fires of strife unquenched flame out again. 
Drenching with hot and bloody rain 

Thy soil, Oriskany. 

But ere the sun went toward the tardy night, 
The valley then beheld the light 

Of freedom's victory ; 
And wooded Tryon snatched from British arms 
The empire of a million farms — 

On bright Oriskany. 

The guns of Stanwix thundered to the skies ; 
The rescued wilderness replies ; 

Forth dash the garrison ! 
And routed Tories, with their savage aids, 
Sink reddening through the sullied shades — 

From lost Oriskany. 



214 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

Behold, Burgoyne ! with hot and hating eyes, 
The New World's flag at last o'erflies 

Your ancient Heraldry; 
For over Stanwix floats triumphantly 
The risina: Banner of the Free — 

Beyond Oriskany. 

A hundred years have passed since then ; 
And hosts now rally there again — 

To crown the century; 
The proud posterity of noble men 
Who conquered in the bloody glen 

Of famed Oriskany. 



BALLADS ON THE BATTLE OF BENNINGTON. 



ODE ON THE BATTLE OF BENNINGTON. 

By Rev. E. H. Chapin, D.D * 

They came, as brave men ever come, 
To stand, to fight, to die ; 

* Rev. Edwin Hubbell Chapin, a distinguished 
Universalist clergyman of New York, and the pas- 
tor of Horace Greeley, was born at Union Village, 
Washington County, N. Y., and died in New York 
City, December 27th, 1880. He received his early 
training at the Bennington, Vt, Seminary, and after- 
ward studied law in Troy, N. Y. Subsequently 
he removed to Utica, and became editor of The 
Magazine and Advocate, a periodical devoted to 
the interests of the Universalists. He afterward 
studied for the ministry, and was ordained in 1837. 
His first settlement was at Richmond, Va. ; and in 
1848 he was installed as pastor in the Fourth Uni- 
versalist Church in New York City. Dr. Chapin was 
long one of the most prominent of metropolitan 
preachers, and his church soon became one of the 
most noted in the city, and to which " throngs of both 
church-goers and non-church-goers resorted whenever 
it was known that he would speak." He was also a 
very popular public lecturer, and his services were in 



216 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

No thought of fear was in the heart 

No quaihng in the eye ; 
If the lip faltered, 'twas with prayer, 

Amid those gathering bands ; 
For the sure rifle kept its poise 

In strong, untrembling hands. 

They came up, at the battle-sound, 

To old Walloomsack's height ; 
Behind them were their fields of toil, 

With harvest promise white ; 
Before them those who sought to wrest 

Their hallowed birthright dear, 
While through their ranks went fearlessly 

Their leader's words of cheer. 



constant demand. As his biographer, in " Appleton's 
Biographical Cyclopaedia," justly says, " His denomi- 
national religious associations were with the Univer- 
salists, but his sympathies w^ere of the broadest 
character, and he numbered among his personal 
friends many of the stanchest advocates of orthodoxy, 
who could not but admire his eloquence, however 
much they may have dissented from his religious 
teaching." In 1872 he succeeded Dr. Emerson in 
the editorship of the Christian Leader. He was 
quite a voluminous writer, and with James G. Adams 
as his associate, he compiled ** Hymns for Christian 
Devotion" (1870). 

The above ode is selected from some stanzas on the 
battle of Bennington in 1837, and delivered by him 
in the Old Academy in Bennington Centre. They 
were also published in Rev. Isaac Jennings's admirable 
work, " Memorials of a Century" (Boston, 1869). 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 217 

" My men, there are our freedom's foe, 

And shall they stand or fall ? 
Ye have your weapons in your hands. 

Ye know your duty all ; 
For we — ^this day we triumph o'er 

The minions of the crown, 
Or Molly Stark's a widowed one 

Ere yonder sun goes down." * 

One thought of heaven, one thought of home, 

One thought of hearth and shrine. 
Then, rock-like, stood they in their might 

Before the glittering line. 
A moment, and each keen eye paused 

The coming foe to mark, 
Then downward to his barrel glanced, 

And strife was wild and dark. 

It needs no monumental pile 

To tell each storied name, 
The fair green hills rise proudly up 

To consecrate their fame. 
True to its trust, Walloomsack long 

The record bright shall bear. 
Who came up at the battle sound 

And fought for freedom there. 



* This is in allusion to the tradition that on the eve 
of the battle, just as the orders were given and the 
combatants were about to engage, General Stark, in 
his saddle, pointing in the direction of the enemy, 
made this laconic address : " Boys, these are the 
Red-coats ; and they are ours, or this night Molly 
Stark sleeps a widow !" 



218 The JBurgoyne Ballads. 

THE BATTLE OF BENNINGTON. 

By William Cullen Bryant.* 

((9« the occasion of the centennial of the battle of Bennington.^ 

On this fair valley's grassy breast 
The calm, sweet rays of summer rest, 
And dove-like peace benignly broods 
On its smooth lawns and solemn woods. 



* William Cullen Bryant, distinguished journalist 
and poet, born in Cummington, Mass., November 3d, 
1794; died in New York, June 12th, 1878. Of dis- 
tinguished colonial ancestry, he early developed poeti- 
cal power, and began at an early age to write short 
epic and satirical verses for the local newspapers and 
magazines, especially the Hampshire Gazette, although 
he was at the same time pursuing the study of the law. 
In his eighteenth year he composed his immortal 
poem " Thanatopsis," the inspiration of which was 
given him while wandering through the primeval 
forests of his native State. After being admitted 
to the bar, he removed to Great Barrington, Mass. 
He continued, however, his literary efforts, contrib- 
uting, meanwhile, to the North American Review, 
and in 1825 removed to New York City, becoming 
assistant editor of the New York Review and Athe- 
ncBum Magazine. Finally he became the editor-in- 
chief, with a part ownership, of the New York Even- 
ing Post, with which influential newspaper he was iden- 
tified until his death. Although a bitter Democrat, 
yet upon the opening of the Civil War he laid all 
partisanship aside, and with true patriotism warmly 
espoused the cause of the United States. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 219 

A century since, in flame and smoke, 
The storm of battle o'er it broke, 
And ere the invader turned and fled, 
These pleasant fields were strewn with dead. 

Stark, quick to act and bold to dare, 
And Warner's mountain band were there ; 
And Allen, who had flung the pen 
Aside to lead the Berkshire men. 

With fiery onset — blow on blow — * 

They rushed upon the embattled foe, 
And swept his squadrons from the vale, 
Like leaves before the autumn gale. 

Oh, never may the purple stain 
Of combat blot these fields again, 
Nor this fair valley ever cease 
To wear the placid smile of peace ! 

Yet here, beside that battle-field. 
We plight the vow that, ere we yield 
The rights for which our fathers bled. 
Our blood shall steep the ground we tread. 

And men will hold the memory dear 
Of those who fought for freedom here. 
And grand the heritage they won 
While their green hill-sides feel the sun. 



THE BATTLE OF BENNINGTON. 

1777-1877. 

By Mrs. Julia Fay Waldenburg.'^ 

'TwAS the eve of that glorious battle morn, 

On Vermont's green mountains, in splendor born ! 

* Julia Fay Waldenburg, daughter of George Barron 



220 Th& Burgoyne Ballads. 

Down from the frowning clouds, the rain 

In torrents fell over hill and plain ; 

It bent the trees and the golden grain, 

Beating the roof and the window pane, 

While the lightning danced on the mountains far 

And the thunder boomed like the guns of war ! 

Crowning a hill in Bennington town. 

Stood a low-browed tavern, broad and brown, 

With a novel sign, whose like I ween 

In book of heraldry ne'er was seen : 

'Twas a catamount, swung from a sapling slight, 

Looking alive, as its teeth gleamed white ! 

When the light from the lonely lantern flared 

At the open doorway, its wild eyes glared, 

And it seemed through the gloom to keep its watch, 

The Hessian or "Yorker" foe to catch ! 

Within the inn, from the candles tall, 

A soft light shone o'er the rooms and hall. 

And lingered in many a silvery line 

On the carven wainscot of native pine ; 

On the musket, and pictures upon the wall ; 

O'er the white-haired landlord, grave and tall ; 

Fay and Catherine Strong ; born at Albany, N. Y., of 
Revolutionary stock ; a great-granddaughter of Captain 
John Strong, of Pittsfield, Mass., on the maternal side, 
and great-granddaughter of Dr. Jonas Fay, of Benning- 
ton, Vt. ; the latter was a son of Stephen Fay, Secretary, 
of Council of Safety and surgeon under Ethan Allen 
She has written considerably in prose and verse — a 
volume of poems published by Joel Munsell in 1878 — 
and has been at different periods foreign correspondent 
of the Albany Argus. Married in 1881 Mr. William 
Waldenburg, of Brooklyn, and has three children. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 221 

On the stalwart forms, that were moving there, 

With speech and counsel, oath and prayer. 

Here the Council of Safety held their court. 

Sentenced the "Tories" with session short, 

And framed the laws with a loyal zeal, 

Enforced with the stamp of the famed " Beech seal,"* 

Vermont's brave sons undaunted, true 

As the emerald hills before their view ! 

Allen the fearless, rough, unmoved ; 

Warner the Ranger's colonel loved ; 

Robinson, Chittenden, Baker, Fay, 

Dewey, Fassett, and such as they, 

Whose names are written with deathless pen 

On the roll of heroes, revered by men ! 

On this August night, 'mid rain and gloom, 

There was gathered within the council room 

An eager, anxious and earnest crowd. 

Who with nervous gestures and voices loud, 

With solemn purpose and steady plan. 

Arranged for the battle, man with man, 

And were restless for morning's light to break 

To war for right and their country's sake. 

They would live in freedom from king and crown. 

Or would lay their lives with the foeman down ; 

They ask no congress for right to move. 

But would follow their leaders brave, through love. 

Then with parting word, for the night was spent, 

To their homes or the distant camp they went. 

* This allusion is to the circumstance that those 
persons who were not considered loyal to the cause of 
the Colonies were often waylaid and taken into the 
woods, where they were punished by a flaying on 
their backs with ''beech rods' — called, in the back- 
woodsman's parlance of the day, " beech seals:' — Ed. 



222 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

Bright rose the morning's sun serene, 

No lingerings of the storm were seen. 

The meadows wore a brighter green, 

The swollen river shone between, 

And proudly rose the mountains far, 

On nature's face no frown of war. 

Then lo ! From out the forests still, 

With stately march and sturdy will, 

The gallant columns moved apace, 

Toward the " Heights" looked every face ! 

They came from forge, from shop, from farm ; 

The " Parson," with his gospel arm 

Upraised, was eager for the fight. 

Strong in his faith for God and right. 

Ranger and volunteer, as one, 

Gathered beneath that August sun ; 

Ununiformed, untried, yet brave. 

They knew their power to fight and save ! 

The miry road they wound along. 
And every mile they grew more strong, 
'Till soon the foe, with colors bright. 
Stood grouped before their waiting sight. 
Brave Stark commanding called aloud 
Unto his little army, proud, — 
"The red-coats! See! ! — We win this fight, 
Else Molly Stark this very night 
Must sleep a widow !" Then to view 
The foe's defences burst, clear through 
The stubborn outworks on they prest 
From northern wing, and from the west ; 
While from the British breastworks poured 
The Hessian fire. The cannon roared ; 
The line it wavered, comrades fell. 
Still pushed they bravely on, and well, 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 223 

Heedless of hail from rattling shot 

Or blistered hand from rifle hot ; 

They rushed and leaped o'er parapet, 

And charged with butt and bayonet. 

Wearied and hungry, wounded sore. 

With throbbing brows and stained with gore. 

They held their posts 'till the fight was done, 

The foe was routed, the battle won, 

While the rays of the setting sun were shed 

O'er a smoking plain, with its pallid dead. 

And the twilight shadows reached down upon 

The victory field of Bennington ! 

In Paris proud, 'neath a golden dome. 

Where wandering pilgrims ever come ; 

'Neath massive marble and sculptured stone 

Is gathered the dust of Napoleon ! 

There's a legend told that a mighty host, 

Shadowy, ghostly, to vision lost, 

Paces ever the tomb, before. 

In tattered garments streaked with gore ; 

Who, pallid and wounded, keep watch and ward. 

'Tis the band of the emperor's famous Guard ! 

They wait his rising who sleeps below, 

To follow his form through heat or snow, 

'Till he lead to glory and victory ; 

And they wait the day and hour to be ! 

No shadowy, ghostly guard have we 

Pacing before dead royalty ; 

But giant forms that to-day we see 

Uprise in their glorious history ! 

Oh ye with the clear-eyed sight of seers 

Who glanced o'er the wid'ning space of years 

And saw a form whose radiance bright 

Flooded the western world with light, 



224 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

Oh, soldiers brave of those mighty days, 

Whom we crown with a century's crown of bays, 

Keep ye your vigils over our land, 

O'er valley and mountain, river and strand ! 

In rain or sunshine, calm or storm, 

Guard ye this beauteous living form. 

Warm with the youth of her hundred years, 

With her pulsing heart and her shining tears, 

Oh, watch our Land in her strength and pride, 

Ye loved her fondly and for her died ! 

So lead her upward, thy guard ne'er cease 

'Till she enter the endless years of Peace ! 



ODE ON THE VETERANS OF THE BATTLE 
OF BENNINGTON. 

By Mrs. Anna C. Botta.* 

Our patriot sires are gone ; 
The conqueror Death lays low 

* Mrs. Anna Charlotte "(Lynch) Botta, authoress, 
born in Bennington, Vt., in 1820. Her father was a 
native of Dublin, Ireland, who at the age of sixteen 
joined the rebel forces under Lord Edward Fitzgerald. 
He was afterward banished to the United States, where 
he married. His daughter was educated in Albany, 
N. Y., and at an early age began writing for literary 
periodicals. Removing to Providence, R. L, she there 
edited the " Rhode Island Book" (Providence, 1841), 
containing selections from the authors of Rhode Island. 
Soon afterward she returned to New York, where she 
has since resided, and in 1855 niarried Professor Botta. 
Among her many works is a " Hand-book of Universal 
Literature" (New York, i860), containing concise ac- 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 225 

Those veterans, one by one, 

Who braved each other foe ; 
Though on them rests Death's sable pall, 
Yet o'er their deeds no shade shall fall. 

No, ye of deathless fame ! 

Ye shall not sleep unsung, 
While Freedom hath a name, 

Or gratitude a tongue. 
Yet shall your names and deeds sublime 
Shine brighter through the mists of time. 

Oh, keep your armor bright, 

Sons of those mighty dead, 
And guard ye well the right 

For which such blood was shed ! 
Your starry flag should only wave 
O'er Freedom's home or o'er your grave. 



PARSON ALLEN'S RIDE.* 

Delivered at the Centennial Celebration of 
THE Battle of Bennington, August i6, 1877, 
BY Wallace BRUCE.f 

The " Catamount Tavern"J is lively to-night ; 

The " boys" of Vermont and New Hampshire are 
here, 

counts of great authors of all ages and their works, 
which has been adopted as a text-book in many edu- 
cational institutions. Mrs. Botta's style is musical, 
elegant, and finished, and her sonnets are especially 
successful (" Appleton's Biographical Dictionary"). 

* For a sketch of Parson Allen, see Appendix 
No. VIII. 

t Wallace Bruce, lecturer, born in Hillsdale, N. Y., 



226 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

All drawn up in line in the lingering light 

To greet Parson Allen with shout and with cheer. 

Over mountain and valley from Pittsfield Green, 
Through the driving rain of that August day, 

The " flock" marched on with martial mien, 
And the Parson rode in his " one horse shay." 

" Three cheers for old Berkshire !" the General said, 
As the boys of New England drew up face to face, 

" Baum bids us a dinner to-morrow to spread, 
And the Parson is here to say us the grace." 

" The lads who are with me have come here to fight. 
And we know of no grace," was the Parson's reply, 

" Save the name of Jehovah, our Country and right, 
Which your own Ethan Allen pronounced at Fort 
Ti." 

" To-morrow," said Stark, " there'll be fighting to do 
If you think you can wait for the morning light, 

And, Parson, I'll conquer the British with you. 
Or my Molly* will sleep a widow at night." 

November loth, 1844. He graduated from Yale in 
1867, and has lectured extensively before lyceums and 
associations on literary subjects, especially on Shake- 
speare, Scott, Burns, Irving, and Bryant. Among his 
works are " The Land of Burns," " Yosemite," " The 
Hudson," and "From the Hudson to the Yosemite." 
At present (1893) he holds the position of United 
States Consul to Edinburgh, Scotland. 

% For an account of the old Catamount Tavern, see 
Appendix No. IX. 

* Elizabeth was her name, but General Stark used 
" Molly" as a word of endearment. This Mr. Charles 
M. Bliss had on the authority of a granddaughter of 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 227 

What the Parson dreamed in that Bennington camp, 
Neither Yankee nor Prophet would dare to guess ; 

A vision, perhaps, of the King David stamp, 

With a mixture of Cromwell and good Queen Bess. 

But we know the result of that glorious day. 
And the victory won ere the night came down, 

How Warner charged in the bitter fray. 
With Rossiter and Hobart and old John Brown ! 

And how in a lull of the three hours' fight 

The Parson harangued the Tory line, 
As he stood on a stump, with his musket bright, 

And sprinkled his text with the powder fine : 

" The sword of the Lord is our battle-cry ! — 

A refuge sure in the hour of need, 
And Freedom and Faith can never die, 

Is article first of the Puritan creed !" 

" Perhaps the occasion was rather rash," 

He remarked to his comrades after the rout, 

" For behind a bush I saw a flash. 

But I fired that way and put it out."* 

And many the sayings, eccentric and queer, 

Repeated and sung through the whole country side, 

And quoted in Berkshire for many a year, 
Of the Pittsfield march and the Parson's ride. 

General Stark who lived in the house with him, and 
who was eighteen years old when the general died. 
Another granddaughter explained it in the same way 
to Secretary William M. Evarts when he was at Ben- 
nington at the centennial of the battle in 1877. 
" Oh," said Evarts in reply, " he called her, then, Molly 
when he wished to mollify her !" 

* The firelock which Rev. Thomas Allen used 



228 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

Honor to Stark and his resolute men — 

To the Green Mountain Boys all honor and praise — 
While with shout and cheer we welcome again, 

The Parson who came in his one horse chaise* 



HYMN ON THE BATTLE OF BENNING- 
TON. 

By Mrs. Marie MASON.t 

(0« the occasion of the centennial of the battle of Bennington^ 

One hundred years ! a nation's joys 
Resound along the prospered way 

That Stark and his Green Mountain Boys 
Made ours one hundred years to-day. 

God bless the standard of the free ! 

God bless this peaceful, happy land ! 
Our fathers' God ! we lift to Thee 

Our praise for gifts on every hand. 

for this confessed purpose was that of his brother 
Joseph, who stood near him, he not having taken one 
into the action. It is still preserved in Pittsfield by 
the descendants of Joseph. 

* Among the re-enforcements from Berkshire came 
a clergyman with a portion of his flock — the boys 
marching on foot and the parson driving through the 
muddy roads in his primitive chaise (" History of Berk- 
shire"). 

f Mrs. Mason, the wife of the distinguished musical 
composer of Boston, Mass., was herself a poetess of 
no mean rank. She is now dead. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 229 

And for our country's honored head * 

Our reverent lips ask this alone ; 
That Thou wilt guide his feet to tread 

In footprints of our Washington. 

Our counsellors with wisdom fill ; 

Let parties die ; let factions cease ; 
Let all men seek with sinofle will 

Our country's unity and peace. 

Then not in vain the patriot blood 

Was poured upon the crimsoned clay, 

When side by side our fathers stood 
One hundred years ago to-day. 



THE BATTLE OF BENiNINGTON, AUGUST 

i6, 1777. 

By Rev. Thomas P. Rodman. 

Up through a cloudy sky the sun 

Was buffeting his way 
On such a noon as ushers in 

A sultry August day. 
Hot was the air — and hotter yet 

Men's thought within them grew; 
They Britons, Hessians, Tories, saw, 

They saw their homesteads too ! 

They thought of all their country's wrongs ; 

They thought of noble lives 
Poured out in battle with their foes ; — 

They thought upon their wives. 



* President Hayes was present on this occasion. 



230 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

Their children and their aged sires, 

Their firesides, churches, God ! 
And these deep thoughts made hallowed ground 

Each foot of soil they trod. 

Their leader was a veteran man — 

A man of earnest will ; — 
His very presence was a host ; 

He'd fought at Bunker's Hill ! 
A living monument he stood 

Of stirring deeds of fame ; 
Of deeds that shed a fadeless light, 

Of his own deathless name ! 

Of Charlestown's flames, of Warren's blood, 

His presence told the tale ; 
It made each patriot's heart beat quick, 

Though lip and cheek grew pale ; 
It spoke of Princeton, Morristown ; — 

Told Trenton's thrilling story ; 
It lit futurity with hope. 

And on the past shed glory. 

Who were those men ? their leader, who ? 

Where stood they on that morn ? 
The men were northern yeomanry, 

Brave men as e'er were born ; 
Who, in the reaper's merry row. 

Or warrior's rank could stand ; 
Right worthy such a noble troop — 

John Stark led on the band. 

Walloomsack* wanders by the spot 
Where they that morning, stood ; 

* For an able article, by Hon. S. D. Locke, of 
Hoosic Falls, N. Y., showing that the battle of Ben- 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 231 

Then rolled the war cloud o'er the stream, 
The waves were tinged with blood ; 

And the near hills that dark cloud girt, 
And fires like lightning flashed ; 

And shrieks and groans, like howling blasts, 
Rose as the bayonets clashed. 

The night before, the Yankee host 

Came gathering from afar, 
And in each belted bosom glowed 

The spirit of the war ! 
All full of fight, through rainy storm. 

Night cloudy, starless, dark — 
They came and gathered as they came, 

Around the valiant Stark ! 

There was a Berkshire parson* — he 

And all his flock were there. 
And like true churchmen militant, 

The arm of flesh made bare. 
Out spoke the Dominie, and said : — 

" For battle have we come. 
These many times : and after this. 

We mean to stay at home, 

" If now we come in vain" — Said Stark : 

" What ! would you go to-night, 
To battle it with yonder troops ? 

God send us morning light, 
And we will give you work enough ; 

Let but the morning come. 
And if ye hear no voice of war. 

Go back and stay at home." 



nington should be called the battle of Walloomsack, 
see National Magazine for April, 1892. 
* Parson Allen. See poem ante by Bruce. 



232 TJie Burgoyne Ballads. 

The morning came — there stood the foe ; — 

Stark eyed them as they stood ; 
Few words he spoke — 'twas not a time 

For moralizing mood ; 
" See there, the enemy, my boys — 

Now, strong in valor's might, 
Beat them^ or Betty'^ Stark will sleep 

in widowhood to-night !" 

Each soldier there had left at home, 

A sweetheart, wife or mother ; 
A blooming sister, or perchance, 

A fair-haired, blue-eyed brother ; 
Each from a fireside came, and thoughts 

These simple words awoke. 
That nerved up every warrior's arm, 

And guided every stroke. 

Fireside and woman — mighty words ! 

How wond'rous is the spell 
They work upon the manly heart, 

Who knoweth not full well ? 
And then the wotnen of this land, 

That never land hath known 
A truer, nobler hearted race, 

Each Yankee boy must own. 

Brief eloquence was Stark's — not vain ; 

Scarce uttered he the words. 
When burst the musket's rattling peal ; 

Out leaped the flashing swords. 
And when brave Stark in after time 

Told the proud tale of wonder, 
He said " the battle din was one 

Continual clap of thunder." 

* General Stark's wife's name was Elizabeth Page. 



The Burgoyne Ballads, 233 

Two hours they strove, when victory crowned 

The valiant Yankee boys ; 
Naught but the memory of the dead 

Bedimmed their glorious joys ! 
Aye — there's the rub ; the hour of strife 

Though follow years of fame, 
Is still in mournful memory linked 

With some death-hallowed name. 

The cypress with the laurel twines — 

The Paean sounds a knell — 
The trophied column marks the spot 

Where friends and brothers fell ! 
Fame's mantle, a funeral pall 

Seems to the grief-dimmed eye ; 
For ever where the bravest fall, 

The best beloved die! 



REMNANT OF AN OLD CONTEMPORARY. 

(Song about Bennington.) 

To take the stores and cattle 
That we had gathered then, 

Burgoyne sent a detachment 
Of fifteen hundred men. 

They came as brave men ever come, 

To stand, to fight, to die; 
No thought of fear was in their heart, 

No quailing in the eye; 
If the lip faltered, 'twas with prayer, 

Amid these gathering bands, 
For the sure rifle kept its poise 

In strong, untrembling hands. 



POEMS ON THE BATTLES OF SARATOGA. 

(September 19 and October 7, 1777.) 
A STORY OF BEHMUS' HEIGHTS. 



(October 7, 1777.) 

(Written by E. W. B. Canning, a trustee of the Saratoga Monument 
Association, for the Springfield Republican, December 13th, 1885.) 

" Please tell us," said the boys who stood, 

With eyes brimful of fun, 
Beside their grandsire — " how you fought 

Red-coats at Bennington ; 
And Col. Cilley's battle-tug 

Over the twelve-pound gun." 

" You've got a little mixed, my boys, 

Twas not at Bennington, 
But Behmus'* Heights, where Cilley took 

And christened that big gun ; 
And I was there and helped hurrah, 

When the brave deed was done. 

" You see we'd been a fighting hard 

Through all the afternoon ; 
And 'mongst the trees a thousand balls 

Still sung their deadly tune ; 
And shot and shell knocked bark and boughs 

Over our whole platoon. 

* See Appendix No. X. for different spellings of 
this name. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 235 

" We drove the red-coats rods away, 
And then they drove us back ; 
Briton and Yankee lay in scores 

Along the bloody track ; 
And neither side would bate a jot — 
'Twas give and take the whack. 

l' So back and forth the battle swayed, 

As ocean's surges sway ; 
And round that gun that stood between 

The dead lay piled that day. 
Though captured oft, we had no time 

To pull the thing away. 

" Four times 'twas ours, and four times, too, 
They drove us from our prize. 
Which made the sparks of anger flash 

From Cilley's gleaming eyes. 
* The next time, boys, we'll hold it, or 
Beside it die' — he cries. 

" A rush, a shout, a volley's crash, 

And it was ours again ; 
And furious as a horde of wolves, 

We drove them down the glen. 
Then on the war-dog Cilley sprang 

And waved his sword amain. 

"And cried aloud, 'To Liberty 
I dedicate the gun ! ' 
Then whirled it round and bade its charge 

Help its late owners run. 
We shouted it to camp, and thus 
Was the twelve-pounder won." 



236 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

POEM BY PROFESSOR ROBERT T. S. 
LOWELL* 

On the Occasion of the Centennial of the Bat- 
tle OF Bemus Heights, September 19, 1777. 

Prelude. 

As while about some restful, wide-shored bay, 

All hid in fog, landward and seaward lay, 

Came far-heard voices forth, from men unseen, 

Or low of herd, or roll of slow-worked oar. 

Heard here and there, throughout that floating screen, 

Made us no longer lonely, as before ; 

Nay, as might chance, the eyes, long-straining, wist 

Where shapes walked, great and dim, within the mist. 

So, we may think, with former men, that by 

This life's wide shore in memory are nigh, 

But hidden deep in folding mists of Past ; 

Still may the stronger eye, the finer ear, 

Find, through the floating clouds about them cast, 

The men that did their work and left it here, 

The past that lived is but a little far 

Within this self-same life wherein we are. 

* Robert Traill Spence Lowell, clergyman, was born 
in Boston, Mass., October 8th, 1816. He was at 
Round Hill School, Northampton, Mass., in 1823-28, 
under Joseph G. Copwell and George Bancroft, and 
graduated from Harvard in 1833. In 1873 he became 
professor of the Latin language and literature in 
Union College, Schenectady, discharging the duties 
of that department for six years. He was quite a vo- 
luminous author, and was a frequent contributor in 
both verse and prose to reviews, magazines, and 
literary journals. He died September 12th, 1891. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 237 

BURGOYNE'S MARCH. 

To the drums' echoing beat, 

And thrilling clarion's cry — 

England's red banner as a sheet 

Of flame against the sky — 

With the strong tread of soldiers' feet 

Burgoyne's good host went by, 

The gleaming bayonets flashed pride in every eye. 

A hundred golden summer suns 

Have filled our fields with June 

Whose morn and noon and twilight runs 

Each to its end too soon. 

Since, basking in the wealth of day, 

Saint John's broad fort and village lay. 

While through the streets, and from the fort, 

Company, regiment, brigade, 

Were marched as for a last parade. 

Crowding the sunny port. 

The town all thronged the beach ; 

No work was then, for far or near : 

No work, unless to see or hear, 

And little speech, but cheer on cheer ; 

Or, here and there, beyond the common reach, 

Some prayer, some sobbing speech ; 

But shout and martial strain 

Make the banks ring again. 

As the men took ship, to sail up Lake Champlain. 

The general had stood awhile 

Within the maple's shade, 

With quickening eye and lofty smile ; 

Since the dread game of war was played 

Were never better soldiers made. 

To conquer for the world-conquering Isle ; 



238 Hie Burgoyne Ballads. 

To win back, for the English Crown, 

Before which, fate, the might of France went down, 

Fortress and farm and town, 

Along the lakes, and rich Mohawk Vale, 

To the old solid town that stands 

Embosomed in fair lands, 

And rich with many a peaceful sail. 

Fort William — Beaverwick — the good town, Albany ; 

While Howe, or Clinton, from the sea. 

Should set the river-country free 

From a base rule by countryman and clown. 

Then would a loyal wall keep wide 

The rebel lands that lay on either side. 

Till more calm time and wiser thought 

Should bring all mad revolt to naught ; 

And the great realm that rounds the world and ever 

fronts the sun. 
Once more, from shore to answering shore, 
By land, by sea, one realm should be ; 
Unbroken, as it was of yore. 
Throughout all earth but one. 

Strange, one might think, breathing June's happy 

breath. 
Hearing glad melodies in all the air, 
Seeing the red and gold that brightened everywhere ; 
Strange that all these, so merry and so fair. 
Should deck the trade of death ! 
As well the clouds of sunset heaped, 
All tinged with red and gold, 
The while the nightfall cricket cheeped. 
Might into sudden storm have leaped, 
And wreck and ruin manifold. 
With thunderbolt of fabled Thor, 
As this become death-dealing war ! 



TJie Burgoyne Ballads. 239 

It would but be a month's parade ; , 

The rebel fort would yield at call, 

To earth the rebel flag would fall ; 

The king would be obeyed. 

To sweep, with summer breeze, the lake. 

In the night wind a bivouac make. 

Beneath the starry arch ; 

To scout, in underwood and brake, 

Would be a pleasure-march ! 

So, to an English eye, our country's cause would fail 
(The hurried ending of a tale 
Told overnight), 

When brave Burgoyne set sail. 

Our countrymen that season lay 

As men that wake in night but fear the day, 

The leaguer-fires of Bunker Hill 

Were yet scarce trodden out ; and still 

There were true men, whose steadfast will 

Set all it had at stake ; 

Would never bow to might or ill ; 

Rather their country's soil would fill 

With clay of heroes' make. 

St. Clair and Schuyler had trod back 

The long road of retreat ; 

The foe was heard upon their track, 

And, foot by foot — as waters roll — 

So, following foot by foot, he stole 

Their country from beneath their feet, 

Crown Point, Ticonderoga, fell ; 

Fort George, Fort Edward — need we tell 

Stout Warner's gloomy overthrow ? 

Or the great loss at Skenesborough } 

Let our hearts honor, as they can, 
Schuyler, the gracious gentleman. 



240 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

His countrymen called back their trust 
He waited not till they were just, 
Took lower place, and felt no shame ; 
Still gave a heart and hand, the same 
That chose this cause when it began, 
And, in his honor, give its share 
To the strong patience of St. Clair. > 
Our tide of strength was running low ; 
On its swift ebb was borne the foe 
And, as men speak, God willed it so. 

Not always will the tide turn out : 
Not always the strong wind of fate 
Shall drive from off the harbor's gate 
Those who, fast-anchored, wait and wait 
'Till their own time shall come about ; 
Yield never to the crime of doubt. 

So everywhere great hearts were true, 
The world looked dark ; here — only here — 
A hand-breadth of the sky was clear ; 
But the world's work was here to do ! 
Manhood in France was in the dust, 
The prey of rank, and greed, and lust ; 
And little despots, otherwheres. 
Laid out the trembling world in shares ; 
And England — England of the free — 
Set safe by God amidst the sea, 
To keep the light of liberty — 
Under a foreign rule 
Had learned in that bad school ; 
Forgotten that, where law has sway, 
They must make law who law obey. 
England was reading all her story back. 
To our true-hearted sires all the world's sky 
looked black, 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 241 

Save one clear hand-breadth in the west ; 
Darkness and clouds held all the rest. 

The time soon comes : men fill our camps; 

On fortress-wall the sentry tramps 

With The New Flag on high, 

That in the ages down through time 

Should shelter all weak things but crime ; 

And all strong wrongs defy. 

Now gain comes in where came in loss ; 

Great names are made, or take new gloss ; 

As fearless Herkimer — so wise 

To see beyond the young, rash eyes, 

Where needless, useless, labor lies ; 

But fatherly and true, 

To bear their rashness through ; 

So Willett won at Schuyler fort. 

And the brave leader Gansevoort : 

Then, with Stark's day at Bennington, 

The first great prize of war was won, 

The conquering of Burgoyne begun. 

There was no choosing in the dark, 

God made the general, John Stark — 

Our tide swelled toward high water mark. 

Three months of summer time were past 

Since, with a gallant host, 

'Mid beat of drum and trumpet-blast, 

And with more lofty boast, 

Burgoyne his march had forward cast ; 

Through fort and field his easy play 

Would be a conqueror's holiday — 

To that proud time his thoughts might stray 

When Gates's army barred his further way. 

On Bemis Heights our fathers stood, 

While all the land looked on ; 



24:2 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

Could they not make their footing good, 
Then Albany was gone ! 
Then all the hearts that beat for right 
Would draw sad presage from the fight ; 
Then a most heavy blow would smite 
The heart of Washington ! 

When the day opened, fair and still 

And clarions, with alarum shrill 

Drew echoes from each other's hill, 

If man his brother's blood must spill, 

Let not God's word, " Thou shall nol killl' 

Bring judgment on our head ! 

And let the right stand, come what will, 

Though we go to the dead ! 

They met the foe. — We will not say 
All that was done, of deadly fray ; 
How forward, now, now back they sway, 
'Till the night settled late. 
But by the first strong stand here made 
Burgoyne's long summer-march was stayed. 
And many an anxious one took breath. 
Who watched the turn, for life or death, 
In the young country's fate. 

Here, once for all, his march was crossed ; 

He tried again, again he lost ; 

And ere the season, growing old. 

Knew summer out of date. 

And hung the woods with red and gold, 

Burgoyne's short story has been told ; 

A brave heart, but his cause was cold ; 

God willed our free born state. 

And so Burgoyne's last march was made : 

Between our line he led his last parade. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 243 

After Breath. 

Now, with still years between, when through we gaze 
On those dim dead — the strong of earlier days — 
Now that all strife is still — the great meed gained 
For them that lived or died, with loyal heart, 
In alien faith, but to great manhood strained 
Unyielding sinews, honor now ! Our part 
To lay ourselves, as very sod or stone 
Of trench, when called, to keep our land our own. 



ALFRED B. STREET'S POEM.* 

Read by Colonel E. Howe on the Occasion of the 
Centennial of the Surrender of Burgoyne. 

When fell Rome's fabric in the chasm it wrought 
Dense darkness rushed without one star of thought : 



* Alfred Billings Street, author and poet, born in 
Poughkeepsie, N. Y., December i8th, 1811. In 1839 
he removed to Albany, N. Y., and 1843-44 edited 
the Northern Light, and from 1848 until his death 
he was State Librarian. Mr. Street began at an early 
age to write poetry for the magazines, and, as his 
biographer in "Appleton's Cyclopedia" has justly said, 
" he attained a respectable rank as a descriptive poet." 
Some of his productions were highly praised by critics, 
and several of his poems have been translated into 
German. Chief among his poems may be mentioned 
"Frontenac: A Metrical Romance" (London, 1849), 
"The Burning of Schenectady" (Albany, 1842), and 
"Drawings and Tintings" (New York, 1844). One of 
his chief prose works was " Woods and Waters on the 
Saranac and the Racket," describing a trip intheAdi- 



244: The Burgoyne Ballads. 

"Scowled the whole midnight heaven, one general tomb, 
Where formless monsters moved in Gothic gloom. 
What though breathed Music in Provengal bowers, 
And architecture wreathed its fadeless flowers : 
The loftiest virtues of the soul lay dead. 
Right, swordless, crouched to Wrong's crowned con- 
quering head. 
And though grand Freedom's essence never dies, 
It drooped, despairing, under despot skies. 
If aught it asked, Darius-like the throne 
At its awed look, in wrathful lightnings shone. 
Its food the acorn and its home the cell, 
Its only light but showed its manacle : 
Until its eye, at throned Oppression's foot. 
Saw slavery's towering tree, its heart the root, 
Cast Upas shadow o'er one common grave, 
With naught but its own soul its life to save. 
And then it rose ; up with one bound it sprang ; 
Thunder from a clear sky its war-shout rang ; — 
Out like a sunburst, flashed its falchion wide, 
And gladdened thousands sought its warrior side ; 
As the mist streaming from some towering crag. 
It spread the blazon of its glittering flag. 

In savage gorges which the vulture swept. 
In lonely caverns where the serpent crept, 

rondack Region (New York, i860). He was present on 
the occasion of the dedication of the Saratoga Monu- 
ment in 1877, on which occasion, being too feeble 
himself, his poem was read by Colonel Howe, and the 
writer well remembers riding with him in the same 
carriage in the procession on that occasion and having 
the felicity of hearing the choice gems which dropped 
from his mouth at that time. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 245 

Close where the tumbling torrent hurled its spray, 
And shadowy cedars twine a twilight day : 
Clutching its sword and battling on its knee, 
Still Freedom fought ; and though the swelling sea 
Of cruel Wrong still drove it struggling higher 
It could not quench its pure celestial fire ; 
From peak to peak it rose until the height 
Showed it but heaven wherein to take its flight. 
Round flew its glance, it saw its myriad foes 
Following, still following, rising as it rose ; 
Following, still following ! was no refuge nigh ? 
Naught on the earth, and only in the sky ? 
Round flew its glance, it pierced beyond the wave ! 
Ha ! the new world emerges ! — shall it save ? 
Hark, a wild cry ! It is the eagle's scream ! 
See, a broad light, the far league-conquering stream 
Linking all climates, where it reaching flows ; 
Its head the snow-drift and its foot the rose. 
Mountains rise there that know no tread of kings ; 
Blasts that waft liberty on chainless wings: 
Lakes that hold skies, the swallow tries to cross ; 
Prairies, earth-oceans ; woods a whirlwind's toss 
Would seem a puny streak: and with one tongue 
All thundered " Come !" the welkin, echoing, rung 
" Come !" and it went ; it took its Mayflower flight ; 
Fierce raged the blast, cold billows hurled their might : 
Winter frowned stern, it pierced to Freedom's heart ; 
White spread the strand and hunger reared its dart ; 
Round the frail hut the panther prowled, the gloat 
Of the wolfs eyeball starred the chimney's throat ; 
Though winter entered in its heart, it braced 
With strength its frame ; its feet the forest traced 
Despising hardship ; by the torrent rocked 
Its bark canoe ; the wild tornado shocked 



246 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

Way through prostrate woods, it grazing-, sent 
No dread, as by its roof it whirling went : 
From choice it climbed the dizzy cliff to glance 
O'er its realm's magnificent expanse. 

Oh, glorious Freedom ! grandest, brightest gift 
Kind heaven has given our souls to heavenward lift ! 
Oh, glorious Freedom ! are there hearts so low 
That its live flame finds there no answering glow ? 
It soars sublime beyond the patriot's love 
Stateliest that sways save thought that dwells above. 
Slaves love their homes, a patriot glad will die 
For native land, though she in chains may lie ; 
Noblest of all the soul that loves to fall 
In the red front at Freedom's sacred call ; 
His heart right's shield, he braves the despot's ban. 
Not for himself to perish, but for man. 

So when crowned Wrong made here, his first advance, 
Flashed from our fathers wrath's immediate glance ; 
Freedom their life, the sceptre but essayed 
Attempt, to send their swift hand to their blade. 
Their serried front said " stay !" their eyes " beware ! 
Rouse not the still prone panther from his lair ! " 
But vain the mandate, vain the warning spoke. 
The king strode onward and the land awoke. 

Stately the sight recording History shows 
When the red walls of our Republic rose. 
Reared in deep woods, beneath a scarce-known sky 
In puny strifes that hardly claimed the eye; 
Of lands still trembling with the thundering track 
Of Saxe and Marlborough ; where startling back 
Russia's black eagle had the Crescent hurled 
Threatening so late to dominate the world. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 247 

Three threatening strands were woven by the Crown — 
One stretching up Champlain ; one reaching down 
The Mohawk Valley, whose green depths retained 
Its Tory heart, Fort Stanwix, scarce restrained, 
And one up Hudson's flood — the three to link 
Where stood Albania's gables by its brink. 

Glance at the picture, ere we spread our wing, 
Of the grand battle whose famed deeds we sing. 
Here spreads Champlain with mountain-skirted shore — 
Caniadere Guarentie — open door 
Of the fierce Iroquois to seek their foes 
In regions stretching from Canadian snows. 
West, in a purple dream of misty crag, 
The Adirondacks wavy outlines drag : 
East the Green Mountains, home of meadowy brooks, 
Of cross-road hamlets, sylvan school-house nooks. 
Church-covered hills and lion-hearted men. 
Taught by the torrent tumbling down the glen, 
By the grand tempests sweeping round the cliff". 
By the wild waters, tossing by their skiff", 
Freedom, till Freedom grew their very life, 
And slavery with all earthly curses rife. 
Next the dark Horican, that mountain-vein. 
Bright islet-spangled tassel to Champlain ; 
The Highlands, souled with Washington and grand 
With his high presence watching o'er the land ; 
Thy heights, oh Bemis ! green with woods, yet white 
With flakes of tents, zigzag with works and bright 
With flags ; while in perspective, we discern 
Grouped round grand Washington, with features stern 
In patriot care and doubt, the forms of Wayne, 
Putnam and Greene and all the shadowy train 
Of congress, wrapt spectators from afar 
Of where fierce Battle drove his flashing, thunder- 
ing car. 



248 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

As when some dream tumultuous fills the night 

With changeful scenes and plunges past the sight 

In hazy shapes looks frowning, till at last 

With all its weird, wild phantasm it is past, 

So the broad picture as it melts away, 

And once more in our hearts peals out our trumpet-lay. 

A deep, stern sound ! the startling signal-war ! 

And up Champlain Burgoyne's great squadron bore. 

In front his savage ally's bark canoes 

Flashing in all their bravery wild of hues ; 

Their war songs sounding and their paddles timed ; 

Next the bateaux, their rude, square shapes sublimed 

With pennon, sword and bayonet, casting glow 

In pencilled pictures on the plain below ; 

Last the grand ships, by queenly Mary led. 

Where shines Burgoyne in pomp of gold and red, 

And then in line St. George, Inflexible, 

And Radeau, Thunderer, dancing on the swell 

The glad wind made ; how stately shone the scene ! 

June in the forests, each side smiling green ! 

O'er her dark dome the chestnut's tassels stretched 

Like golden fingers ; pearl that seemed as fetched 

From Winter's heart the locust mantled o'er. 

While its rich, creamy mass the dogwood bore. 

Like a white helmet with its plumes atop. 

And the sweet basswood higher appeared adrop 

With ivory gems : the hemlock showed its edge 

Fringed with fresh emerald ; even the sword-like sedge 

Sharp 'mid the snowy lily-goblets set 

In the nook shallows, like a spangled net 

Was jewelled with brown bloom. By curving point 

Where glittering ripples amber sands anoint 

With foamy silver ; by deep, crescent bays 

Sleeping beneath their veil of drowsy haze. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 249 

By watery coverts shimmering faint in film, 
Broad, rounded knolls, one white and rosy realm 
Of laurel blossom, with the Kalmia-urns 
Dotted with red, the fleet, as sentient, turns 
The winding channel; in tall towers of white 
The stately ships absorb the emerald light 
Glossing the lake ; like huge, dark claw-urged crabs 
Ply the bateaux their poles ; the paddle-stabs 
Of the canoes make music as they move. 
Gliding along unjarred, as in its groove 
The car-wheel glides ; the panther views the scene 
And bears her cubs within the thicket's screen ; 
The wolf lifts sharpened ear and forward foot ; 
Waddles the bear away with startled hoot, 
As some sail sends a sudden flash of white 
In the cove's greenery, slow essaying flight 
The loon rears, flapping, its checked, grazing wings, 
'Till up it struggling flies and downward flings 
Its Indian whoop ; the blue bird's sapphire spark 
Kindles the shade ; the swarming pigeon's dark 
Deep blue breaks out ; the robin's warble swells 
In crumply cadence from the skirting dells : 
And restless rings the bobolink's bubbly note 
From the clear bell that tinkles in his throat. 
Thus stately, cheerily move the thronging fleet! 
O'er the lake's steel the blazing sunbeams beat ; 
But now a blast comes blustering from a gorge, 
The whitecaps dance ; it bends the tall St. George 
And even the Thunderer tosses : the array 
Breaks up ; canoe, bateau grope doubtful way 
Through the dim air ; in spectral white each sail 
Glances and shivers in the whistling gale ; 
All the green paintings of point, bank and tree 
Vanish in black and white, and all but see 



250 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

A close horizon where near islands lose 

Their shapes and distant ranks of forest fuse 

Into a mass ; at last the blast flies off, 

Shallows stop rattling, and the hollow cough 

Of surges into caves makes gradual cease 

'Till on the squadron glides, once more in sunny peace. 

So in some blue-gold day white clouds up-float 

In shining throng, and then are dashed remote 

By a fierce wind, next join in peace again 

And smoothly winnow o'er the heavenly plain, 

Or some fleet of wild fowl on the lake 

Dipping and preening quiet journey take, 

Till the sky drops an eagle circling low 

For the straight plunge, wild scattering to and fro. 



When lay Champlain in eve's gold-plated glass, 
And rich, black pictures etched the glowing grass. 
The crews debarked, their camp-fires round would rear, 
And hang their kettles for their nightly cheer ; 
Then rose the tents, like mushrooms to the moon. 
Swords would be edged and muskets polished ; soon 
Slumber would fan its wings, and in the bright. 
Soft, delicate peace would croon the summer night. 

Then the gray day-dawn through the leaves would look, 
Red-coats would gleam in every emerald nook 
And weapons glitter ; as the mist would crawl 
From the smooth lake and up the forest-wall. 
Sails would shine out and spottings of canoe 
Moored with bateau would thicken on the view; 
Rings of dead ashes, fallen trees half burned. 
Trunks into black Egyptian marble turned, 
Where curling fires had scorched the streaky moss. 
Roofs of dead leaves where branches stooped across, 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 251 

And soil burned black and smoking still would show- 
Where through the night had shone the camp-fire 

glow ; 
Limbs drooping down and logs with gaping cuts 
Where the brigade had reared their bushy huts ; 
A deer's head on a stump, a bear skin cast 
On trampled ferns — the red man's late repast ; 
The damp drum's beat would sound, and shrilly fife, 
Dingle and aisle would flash with martial life ; 
Once more the fleet would start and up their way 
Take as the whole scene brightened into day. 

On Lady Mary's deck Burgoyne would stand, 
Drinking the sights and sounds at either hand, 
Replete with beauty to his poet heart. 
Laughing to scorn man's paltry works of art, 
The grassy vista with its grazing deer. 
The lone loon soaring on its shy career. 
The withered pine tree with its fish-hawk nest. 
The eagle eyrie on some craggy crest. 
The rich white lilies that wild shallow told. 
Their yellow sisters with their globes of gold 
At the stream's mouth ; the ever changeful lake. 
Here a green gleaming, there a shadowy rake 
Of scudding air-breath ; here a dazzling flash 
Searing the eyeball ; there a sudden dash 
Of white from some swift cloud; a streak of white 
The wake of some scared duck avoiding sight. 



Changing the scene, Burgoyne his camp would trace 
Round the Red House at the Great Carrying Place ; 
There when the sun is bright the sentry sees 
Madame Riedesel dining under trees, 



252 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

As the chasseur beholds her gliding round 
Off flies his bear-skin helmet to the ground. 

* ■Sf ■» ■» -Jf * •» 

Meanwhile the tidings of Oriskany 

And Bennington careered, and glad and free 

Hope spread white pinions; throngs to Schuyler pour 

Swelling his ranks, all abject terror o'er. 

Poor Jennie's mournful doom has roused an ire 

Wrapping the region with consuming fire. 

The boy strode downward in his rustic sleeves, 

His coarse frock fragrant with the wheaten sheaves ; 

The old blue swallow-tailed artillery coat 

Trod by the hunting shirt from wilds remote. 

* -5:- •K- * * * •Jf 4f 

But on ! the morning dawns : still on ! the height 
Of Saratoga hails the pallid light 
Of closing eve, and here at last the weighed 
And weary step of poor Burgoyne is stayed. 
Gates follows after from the jewelled isles 
Of Horican, the stately rocky piles 
Of blue Luzerne, where the majestic crags 
Of" Potash Kettles" change the clouds to flags. 
Within a ball-swept tent Burgoyne sits now 
In council with despair upon his brow ; 
Curtains of scowling blackness fold him round, 
Closed is the net and he is firmly bound. 
Turns he toward Horican ?* the foe is there ! 



* Horican (Horicon), a name never an Indian name, 
but merely, as Cooper himself says, a fiction, and which, 
therefore, has not the merit even of historical truth. A 
tribe once lived in that vicinity, and therefore he took 
the liberty of calling Lake George by that name. This 
is all well enough in novels, but so far as historic truth 
is concerned it should be mentioned. Cooper should 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 253 

East, Fellows'* cannon-lightnings scorch the air. 
West, the live forest but his coming waits, 
And in his rear the frowning front of Gates. 

* •55- * •»• * -K- * * 

On the Fort Hardy green,f this dainty day. 

The conquered hosts of England march, to Jay 

Their weapons down. The hour has struck, and now 

With heavy footstep and with sullen brow 

They come, but with no patriot eye to see, 

For nobly Gates in generous sympathy 

Has banished all within their tents. They come 

Yet with no banner spread, no beating drum. 

Tramp, tramp, they come ! tramp, tramping rank on 

rank ! 
Tramp, tramp, they come ! tramp, tramping ; hark, 

that clank ! 
Those piling arms! clank, clank ! that tolling knell 
To bowed Burgoyne ! what bitter, bitter swell 

never be considered an authority in anything pertain- 
ing to historical truth. In fact, he is greatly overrated. 

* General Fellows having got in the rear of Bur- 
goyne's army, between the latter and Fort Edward — 
the objective point of Burgoyne's retreat — nothing was 
left for the British general but to surrender. 

f Fort Hardy. This fort was erected during the 
administration of Governor Hardy of the province of 
New York. It was built by the colony of New York 
to ward off the -incursions of the French and the Ind- 
ians in their employ. It never was a great strategic 
work, though for political purposes it was in the New 
York Assembly called a " great work." It was here 
that Burgoyne's army " stacked" their arms, and the 
outworks of which are still (1893) to be seen by the 
curious tourist. 



254 Tlie Burgoyne Ballads. 

Of his proud heart ! ah, sad Burgoyne ! what death 
To thy high hopes, all vanished like a breath ! 

Loudly may laureled Saratoga claim 

A marble tribute to her splendid fame ! 

In the grand chariot which her war-steeds drew 

She first placed Freedom, pointed to her view 

The glorious goal. Shall pagan Egypt bid 

The heavens be cloven with her pyramid ? 

Shall Greece shrine Phidias in her Parthenon 

To live till fade the stars and dies the sun ? 

Rome with her mighty Coliseum whelm 

The earth with awe ? — a peerless, wondrous realm— 

And our free nation meanly shrink to write 

With marble finger in the whole world's sight 

Grand Saratoga's glory ? Sound aloud 

Song thy wide trumpet ! let the heavens be bowed 

With love of country's wrathful thunders, till 

A reverent people with united will 

Shall bid the monument arise and stand 

Freedom's embodied form forever in the land. 



GENERAL J. WATTS DE PEYSTER'S ODE. 

Read by Rev. D. K. Van Doren, on the Occa- 
sion OF THE Centennial Celebration of Bur- 
goyne's Surrender. 

THE SURRENDER OF BURGOYNE, " SAR- 
ATOG," 17TH OCTOBER, 1777. 

Brothers, this spot is holy ! — Look around ! 

Before us flows our mem'ry's sacred river. 
Whose banks are Freedom's Shrines. This grassy 
mound. 

The altar, on whose height the Mighty Giver 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 255 

Gave Independence to our country ; when, 
Thanks to its brave, enduring, patient men, 
The invading host was brought to bay, and laid 
Beneath " Old Glory's" new-born folds, the blade, 
The brazen thunder-throats, the pomp of war. 
And England's yoke, broken forever more. 

Like a destroying angel, Burgoyne's host 

Burst through Ticonderoga's bulwarks, hoary ; 
And flaming wrecks, wide ruin 'long its coast, 

Renew'd past awful scenes of Champlain's story, 
When France's Lilies dy'd themselves in blood, 
Floated to triumph on Algonquin flood — 
Made William Henry's siege a tale of horror — 
Made Abercrombie's failure land-wide sorrow, 
Like many conflicts though right bravely fought — 
The only comfort was by Schuyler brought. 
Our frontier people shrunk before the scare ; * 
The load was left for Schuyler 'lone to bear. 



* The scare or panic which succeeded the first ap- 
pearance of Burgoyne was of the same character with 
that which shook the whole country after the Bull Run 
First, July 21st, 1861, and was equally causeless. The 
people recovered from it much quicker in 1777 than 
in 1 86 1, for Oriskany and its rich harvest, due to 
Schuyler, which broke the spell, was fought exactly 
one month to a day after the fall of Ticonderoga, 
whereas the victory won by General Thomas, the 
Schuyler of the Slaveholders' Rebellion, at Mill Spring, 
which taught the North that, under an honest and 
able leader, theirs were the best men, was not achieved 
until January 19th, 1862, six months after the first 
battle of Bull Run. 



256 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

And how he bore it, now, at length, we know ; 

How steadfastly he damm'd the crimson tide; 
Baffled and stopp'd the five-fold stronger foe;* 

To timid counsels hero strength supplied. 
Burgoyne victorious, ere he left Champlain, 
Startled perceiv'd his brilliant prospects wane ; 
Saw in the Lion's path a Nimrod stand ; 
Saw all his mighty projects counterplann'd ; 
Ere Burgoyne reached the Hudson, fast empoignd 
In Schuyler's grasp, he felt he was " Burgoyn'd." 

O mighty soul ! — by envious souls decried, 

New York's great son in giant height now stands ; 

Argus to watch, Ulysses to decide, 

Gath'ring resources with Briarean hands. 

His the victorious field Harkheimer made 

St. Leger's f foil, stopp'd Johnson's tiger raid ; 

* Allen says Schuyler did not have over looo men 
at Fort Edward, and even after he got down to Half- 
Moon, it would appear that the majority of his troops 
were boys, old men, negroes, and parti-colored. If 
the real truth could be reached, there is very little 
question but that proof exists that Burgoyne had over 
10,000 men. Regulars, Provincials or Loyalists, Cana- 
dians and Indians, when he started on this expedition. 
He himself admits 7863 men. Schuyler at Fort Edward, 
when Burgoyne was within twenty-one miles of him, 
had only 1500 miserably furnished troops. Burgoyne 
surrendered, valids and invalids, 5763 men to Gates, 
who had, besides staff, bateau-men, artificers, etc., a 
force numbering 18,624, according to official returns. 
Governor and General Clinton, of New York, estimated 
the forces of General Gates at between 23,000 and 
24,000 armed men. 

f For a sketch and account of General St. Leger 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 257 

Fort Stanwix sav'd, the Mohawk valley sav'd — 
Was all his work, who coward counsels brav'd ; 
Stak'd honor, fortune, all, upon the throw, 
So by the cast he beat his country's foe ; 
Oriskany is due to New York's son ; 
Likewise to Schuyler's brain is Bennington, 
Fought on our own State soil, on Hoosic's hill, 
Vict'ries that yet the nation's pulses thrill. 
At length Burgoyne, the haughty, brought to bay 

At Saratoga knew our country's might ; 
At Freeman's Farm saw triumph fade away ; 

Saw Hope itself take wings on Bemis Height. 
Barr'd, baffled, beaten, crippled, short of food, 
In vain his craft, his vet'ran multitude. 
Caught in the toils through which he could not break, 
Chain'd like a victim to the fatal stake 
Just where we stand — thanks to Sabaoth's Lord 
Boasting Burgoyne gave up his vet'ran sword. 

Here Albion's battle flag, which, round the would; 
Following the sun at morning-gun's unfurl'd, 
Here, where we stand, the crucial flag of Mars 
Stoop'd, in surrender, to our Stripes and Stars, 
Where at an army's head was first display'd 
Our Starry Flag with triumph's halo ray'd. 
A century since Burgoyne surrender'd here!* 
British dominion its Centennial year 

and his dissolute life, see Stone's "Johnson's Orderly 
Book," Appendix (Munsell's Sons). 

*The New Netherlands were not definitely ceded 
to Great Britain, and did not become permanently 
New York until February 9th, 1674, by the peace 
signed at Westminster. The city of New Amsterdam 
or New York was not finally yielded up, however, 
until November loth, 1674. 



258 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

Had just completed — which its Lion tore 
From Holland's zone, the richest gem it bore, — 
And now assembled thus, we celebrate 
The triumph sure which seal'd th' invader's fate ; 
Without this deed. Freedom had not been ours ; 
Without this fact, unbroken Britain's powers ; 
Burgoyne defeated, France became our friend, 
A source of strength on which we could depend. 
For all that War's strong sinews constitute — 
To foster Freedom's tree — 'neath us the root. 

All was decided here, and at this hour 

Our sun leap'd up, though clouds still veil'd its power. 

From Saratoga's hills we date the birth, — 

Our Nation's birth among the powers of earth. 

Not back to '76 New Yorkers date : 

The mighty impulse launched our " Ship of State" 

'Twas given here — where shines our rising sun 

Excelsior ! These hills saw victory won. 

This vale the cradle where the colonies 

Grew into States — despite all enemies. 

Yes, on this spot — Thanks to our Gracious God 

Where last in conscious arrogance it trod, 

Defil'd as captives Burgoyne's conquered horde ; 

Below * their general yielded up his sword 



^'' Below!' On the alluvial flat, a few feet distant 
from the foundation of the contemplated Saratoga 
Monument (according to W. L. Stone), Burgoyne 
went through the ceremony of resigning his sword to 
Gates. The Duke de Ro'chefoucauld-Liancourt (H., 
302), who visited " Saratog" in 1795, says that the 
ceremony took place in the courtyard of Schuyler's 
ruined homestead. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 259 

There * to our flag bow'd England's, battle-torn. 
Where now we stand f th' United States was born ! 

* " There!' About a hundred rods to the front and 
eastward, near the site of old Fort Hardy and present 
village of Schuylerville, the British forces laid down 
their arms. 

f " Here where we standr The Convention of Sara- 
toga traversed all the British plans, lost to the crown 
an army which could not be replaced, won for the Col- 
onies the French alliance, without whose men, material, 
and money, independence was still an impossibility. 
And afterward no great general battle was fought, nor 
did the English achieve a single success which led, even 
comparatively speaking, to important results. The 
sun of October 17th, 1777, witnessed the safe delivery 
of the infant United States. 

The writer of these verses has endeavored to convey 
in a few lines facts worthy of remembrance, which 
thus concisely put could be recalled without exertion, 
and read or listened to without fatigue. The facts 
thus grouped together in rhyme, and so briefly pre- 
sented, were the result, however, of years of the closest 
study. The author's researches had already borne 
fruit in a series of publications. The most prominent 
of these was an Annual Address, delivered on Janu- 
ary 22d, 1877, before the New York Historical 
Society, and entitled " Major-General Schuyler and 
the Burgoyne Campaign, in the Summer of 1777," 
June, October, 1777; "Justice to Schuyler," published 
in the New York Citizen, Citizen and Round Table, 
in or about January, 1868 ; also " Schuyler and Prac- 
tical Strategy," published in the Army and Navy 
Journal, January 27th, 1865, Vol. HI., page 336. 
The last two were published in 1876 as a mono- 



260 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

graph, with notes. In addition to these, the author, 
Major-General J. Watts de Peyster, prepared a series 
of nineteen articles, bearing the general title " The 
Revolutionary Year, 1777," which came out in the 
New York Evening Mail and New York Mail. The 
first appeared on April 5th and the nineteenth on 
December 13th, 1877. The series treated of all 
the prominent events of " the real beyond contra- 
diction, Centennial year." They filled nearly thirty 
columns of this evening daily. Over and above 
this immense labor, the same exponent of the truth 
of American history wrote twelve voluminous arti- 
cles on the Burgoyne campaign for the New York 
Daily Times, treating in detail not only the Bur- 
goyne campaign proper, but all the military op- 
erations bearing upon or connected with the same. 
These occupied at least thirty-six columns brevier and 
agate type in this prominent daily journal. Some of 
them were pronounced by experts to be exhaustive of 
facts and authorities. Nor was this the entirety of 
his labors. He furnished a monograph and poem on 
the battle of Oriskany, with notes, to Stone's New 
York Military Gazette, of November 15th, i860, 
and a detailed article on the same subject to the New 
York Historical Magazine (new series, Vol. V., No. 
i), for January, 1869. The poem which first ap- 
peared in the Military Gazette was considered of 
sufficient merit to be translated into German and re- 
published in Hon. Friedrich Kapp's " Geschichte der 
deutchen Anwanderung in Amerika," Vol. I., " Ge- 
schichte der Deutschen in Staate New York bis zum 
Anfange des neunzehnten Jahrhundertl' New York, 
1867, pages 389-90. It was again reproduced in 
the Staats Zeitu7ig of August 6th, 1877. His 
second poem on Oriskany, written for the occasion, 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 261 

was read at the Centennial Anniversary of this decisive 
battle, noteworthy in connection with the battles and 
capitulation of Saratoga, because it did decide the 
fate of the Burgoyne campaign. This received the 
most flattering notice from the press throughout the 
State, as well as elsewhere. 

The motive for all this work was patriotism in the 
sense in which it was applied in olden times, when a 
man's sympathies were not expected to embrace a 
continent : Love of New York, the Empire State, 
in the truest sense of such an appellation, imperial 
even in its errors. With gradually developing thought, 
even New England has attained the majesty of justice 
to Schuyler. (See Stevens's " Burgoyne Campaign," 
page 27.) ^ ^ 

Alas! this justice comes just one century too late. 
New England's envy and injustice, in 1777, deprived 
Schuyler of his glory in the very hour of triumph — 
New England, for which Washington had so little 
good and so much bitter both to say and to write. 

All the conflicts of the Burgoyne campaign were 
fought on New York soil, and all the great factors in 
the triumph, except the mere nominal chief actor, 
were born within the limits of the original colony of 
the New Netherlands, afterward New York. Chil- 
dren of its soil fought out the question on the Upper 
Hudson (underlying Fort Anne), at Oriskany and in 
the passes of the Highlands. Namesake and kins- 
man, blood relation and connection, neighbor and de- 
pendent, met breast to breast to solve the great prob- 
lem whether their country should be happier under a 
constitutional monarchy or a constitution and con- 
gress. 

They did not decide it then, and it is an enigma 
which still remains unsolved. Events are tending fast 



262 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

to its solution, but the tangled skein is certainly not 
yet entirely unravelled. 

What scathing words Washington hurls around 
him at various members of the old original Thirteen ! 
He is unsparing. New England does not escape, nor 
Pennsylvania, nor even his own native Virginia. 

" In 1777" (says Theodore Parker in his " Historic 
Americans"), "when the British held Philadelphia, and 
Washington went into winter quarters at Valley 
Forge, only a day's march off, at a time of the greatest 
peril, the . . . State of Pennsylvania had but twelve 
hundred militia in the field to defend their own fire- 
sides." " Pennsylvania . . . did little for indepen- 
dence." 

These are quotations. If the charges are unfounded, 
let the author justify them. One fact is patent, just 
as in 1862 and 1863, Pennsylvania had to call in 1777 
upon her sister States to protect her homesteads. 

Meanwhile, what is the record of the Rev. William 
Gordon (iii, 399), in regard to New York, which, 
" though consuming at both ends and bleeding at 
every pore, had her complement of Continental troops 
(Congress soldiers Regulars), in the field, beside having 
raised in the month of May [1780] eight hundred 
new levies to guard the frontiers ?" 

In 1780, when New York was devastated (at its 
heart) by her own offspring, while thus suffering and 
still exerting itself, several of her sister States were 
in full and peaceable possession of their territories, 
seemingly slept in security, and had not a third of 
their quota in the field. " Yet (at this very period), in 
1779-80, General Arnold, the traitor, with less than 
two thousand men (British Regulars and Loyalists), 
ravaged the whole State of Virginia for two years. 
Jefferson did nothing against him." (Parker's " His- 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 263 

toric Americans," Washington, 144.) Nor was the 
Father of his Country less severe on the original co- 
lonial Virginia militia or provincial troops. {Ibid., 
86-88.) 

This theme might be pursued with healthful in- 
structiveness through pages for the edification not 
merely of the men of the day, but of posterity, to show 
that not only were the shores of the noble river 
which bears his name " the loveliest country (ac- 
cording to Hudson) on which the foot of man was 
ever set," but the men who were bred and born along 
this majestic stream and its affluents were worthy of 
such a partial soil. 

The first North American Congress met at New 
York in 1690 (Lamb, i, 379). The second (by many 
styled the first) celebrated Congress, consisting of dele- 
gates from all the Colonies, convened at Albany in 

1754- 
The fate of the Thirteen Colonies was decided in the 

State of New York one hundred years ago ; and the 
first President of the United States was inaugurated 
in the city of New York eighty-eight years ago in 
Federal Hall. 

So much space has been devoted to this illustration, 
because if General de Peyster's part in the exercises 
on October 17th, 1877, at Schuylerville was com- 
paratively small, his "chivalric" labors to place the 
State of New York upon the grand elevation its ma- 
jesty deserves have not been exceeded by any " son 
of the soil" since first it had a literature and records. 



264 TTie Burgoyne Ballads. 

THE FIELD OF THE GROUNDED ARMS, 
SARATOGA. 

Written in 1831 by Fitz-Greene Halleck* 

{Read by General James Grant Wilson, HallecJis biographer^ 

Strangers ! your eyes are on that valley fixed 
Intently, as we gaze on vacancy, 

When the mind's wings o'erspread 

The spirit world of dreams. 

* Fitz-Greene Halleck, poet, born in Guilford, 
Conn., July 8th, 1790; died there November 19th, 
1867. In May, 1 8 II, he left his native town to seek 
after fame and fortune in New York, and in June 
of the same year he entered the counting-room of 
Jacob Barker, in whose service he remained for 
twenty years. He early became a poet, and it was on 
the occasion of the death of his intimate friend, 
Joseph Rodman Drake, that he wrote those exquis- 
itely touching lines beginning 

" Green be the turf above thee." 

In 1819 these two formed a literary partnership, and 
afterward produced the humorous series of the 
" Croaker Papers," published in the New York Even- 
ing Post, then edited by their friend, Bryant. He 
was the author of numerous poetical works and short 
pieces — among them " Fanny" and " Marco Boz- 
zaris" — and was justly held in high regard both as a 
poet and as a man. Nor can I allow this opportunity 
to pass without here paying a personal tribute to the 
subject of this sketch. When a young man and first 
embarking on the untried sea of authorship, he gave me 
much encouragement, and it is due to him in a meas- 
ure that I was emboldened to continue that voyage. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 265 

True, 'tis a scene of loveliness — the bright 
Green dwelling of the summer^s first-born hours, 

Whose wakened leaf and bud 

Are welcoming the morn. 

And morn returns the welcome, sun and cloud 
Smile on the green earth from their home in heaven, 

Even as a mother smiles 

Above her cradled boy, 

And wreathe their light and shade o'er plain and 

mountain, 
O'er sleepless seas of grass, whose waves are flowers. 

The river's golden shores. 

The forest of dark pines. 

The song of the wild bird is on the wind. 
The hum of the wild bee, the music wild. 

Of waves upon the bank, 

Of leaves upon the bough. 

But all is song and beauty in the land, 
Beneath her skies of June ; then journey on, 

A thousand scenes like this 

Will greet you ere the eve. 

Ye linger yet — ye see not, hear not now. 
The sunny smile, the music of to-day. 

Your thoughts are wandering up. 

Far up the stream of time. 

And boyhood's lore and fireside listened tales 
Are rushing on your memories, as ye breathe 

That valley's storied name, 

Field of the Grounded Arms. 

Strangers no more, a kindred " pride of place," 
Pride in the gift of country, and of name. 

Speaks in your eye and step — 

Ye tread your native land. 



266 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

And your high thoughts are on her glory's day, 
The solemn Sabbath of the week of battle, 

Whose tempest bowed to earth 

Her foeman's banner here. 

The forest leaves lay scattered cold and dead, 
Upon the withered grass that autumn morn. 

When, with as widowed hearts 

And hopes as dead and cold, 

A gallant army formed their last array 
Upon that field, in silence and deep gloom. 

And at their conqueror's feet 

Laid their war-weapons down. 

Sullen and stern, disarmed but not dishonored ; 
Brave men, but brave in vain, they yielded there 

The soldier's trial-task 

Is not alone " to die." 

Honor to chivalry ! the conqueror's breath 
Stains not the ermine of his foeman's fame, 

Nor mocks his captive doom — 

The bitterest cup of war. 

But be that bitterest cup the doom of all 
Whose swords are lightning-flashes in the cloud 

Of the invader's wrath. 

Threatening a gallant land ! 

His armies' trumpet-tones wake not alone 
Her slumbering echoes ; from a thousand hills 

Her answering voices shout. 

And her bells ring to arms ! 

The danger hovers o'er the invader's march, 
On raven wings hushing the song of fame, 

And glory's hues of beauty 

Fade from the cheek of death. 



TTie Burgoyne Ballads. 267 

A foe is heard in every rustling leaf, 
A fortress seen in every rock and tree, 

The eagle eye of art 

Is dim and powerless then, 

And war becomes the people's joy, the drum 
Man's merriest music, and the field of death 

His couch of happy dreams, 

After life's harvest-home. 

He battles heart and arm, his own blue sky 
Above him, and his own green land around. 

Land of his father's grave. 

His blessing and his prayers ; 

Land where he learned to lisp a mother's name, 
The first beloved in life, the last forgot, 

Land of his frolic youth, 

Land of his bridal eve — 

Land of his children— vain your columned strength, 
Invaders! vain your battles' steel and fire ! 

Choose ye the morrow's doom — 

A prison or a grave. 

And such were Saratoga's victors — such 
The Yeoman-Brave, whose deeds and death have 
given 

A glory to her skies, 

A music to her name. 

In honorable life her fields they trod, 
In honorable death they sleep below ; 

Their souls' proud feelings here 

Their noblest monuments. 



268 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

SARATOGA. 

By Charles H. Crandall.* 

( Written for the dedication of the battle monttment at Schuylerville, N. F.) 

Historic Hudson ! Haste not by to-day ! 
More gently let thy waters take their way 

*Crandall, Charles Henry, born June 19th, 1858, 
in the town of Easton, near the village of Greenwich, 
Washington County, N. Y. His father was Henry 
Sargent Crandall, who spent many years in public 
service as Assistant Assessor of Internal Revenue, and 
in several positions in the New York Post Office and 
Custom House. The Crandalls trace back to a fol- 
lower of Roger Williams, Rev. John Crandall, who 
founded the town of Westerly, R. I., about 1635. On 
his maternal side the poet sprang from Mills, Car- 
michael, Canfield, and Waters families. His great- 
grandfather, Jeremiah Newbury, fought throughout the 
whole Revolution, and is buried at Greenwich, N. Y. 

Our subject was educated at common schools and the 
Greenwich Academy until he was fourteen years old, 
when he had to take up the problem of working for a 
living, first on the ancestral acres and afterward in 
mercantile life in New York. Tired of the latter, he 
went on the staff of the New York T^Hbime in March, 
1880, and has written for it since more or less, con- 
tributing correspondence, special and editorial matter. 
His vein of poesy first flowed through the columns of 
the Tribune, oi^&mvig with a graceful sonnet, and con- 
tinuing with some scores of poems — grave, gay, patri- 
otic or elegiac. Afterward his verse found acceptance 
with the Century, Harper s Monthly, the Atlantic, 
Cosmopolitan, Lippincotfs, etc. Among many maga- 
zine articles he has written a full treatment of the Bur- 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 269 

As on thy banks we dedicate 

This shaft unto the dead, the great, 
Whose memory, like thy stream, a shining story, 
Shall broaden to a boundless sea of glory. 

The dwellers in Manhattan's crowded mart 
May here see Nature play her silent part. 

The stream that brings them wealth 

Here steps with bashful stealth, 
Soft, as in moccasins an Indian maiden, 
Its breast with trees, like tresses, overladen. 



goyne campaign, published with illustrations in the 
American Magazine. His interest in the Burgoyne bat- 
tle monument may be partially due to the fact that his 
birthplace, two miles away, is in view from its top. In 
1890 Mr. Crandall published through Houghton, 
Mifflin & Co. a collection of "Representative Sonnets" 
by American poets, with an exhaustive study and his- 
tory of the sonnet in all literatures since its birth in 
the thirteenth century. The work was at once cordially 
greeted, as a credit to American literature, by such 
critics as Stedman, Gilder, Horace E. Scudder, the 
Evening Post, Critic, etc. 

In 1892 Mr. Crandall was requested to write a poem 
for the two hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the 
founding of Stamford, Conn., near which city he now 
resides, mingling farm life with literary pursuits. He 
has been twice married : to Miss Kate V. Ferguson 
(deceased) and to Miss Mary V. Davenport, of the 
family so closely connected with the history of Con- 
necticut. He has three sons — Arthur, Robert and 
Roland — and finds even greater pleasure in his sons 
than his sonnets. 



270 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

As now for many a path in life you meet, 
The hills in their immortal verdure greet, 

Come with me in my boat of rhyme, 

Come and ascend the stream of time, 
Back when the nation was a century newer 
And held true heroes, though her sons were fewer. 

Quiet for many a year has here been found — 
The wild bird feared no martial sight nor sound. 

Under the peaceful fields, well-kept. 

The ashes of the soldier slept, 
With summer's guard of tasselled corn around. 
And winter's snow-shroud hallowing the ground. 

On yonder plain, where England's grenadiers 
Laid down the arms they loved, with bitter tears. 

The armies of the grass and grain 

Have struggled o'er and o'er again, 
In changing regiments of green and yellow, 
Through lusty June, through August ripe and mellow. 

Honor the past ! Already has there flown 

From Saratoga and from Horicon 

All but their names — whose gentle sounds 
Still linger round the burial mounds — 

Of that dark race, which, ever westward flying. 

Now, like a sunset's light, is slowly dying. 

The modern spirit would itself demean 

Did we not flock, to-day, to such a scene ; 
For from the nation's rugged past. 
The rude days when her fate was cast, 

Has flowed the stream that makes all men draw near 
her. 

The Freedom that has made the world revere her. 

Here fell the blow that made Oppression reel, 
And set on Freedom's cause its brightest seal. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 271 

Honor to Schuyler, Morgan, Gates, 

The victors over threatening fates, 
And praise for him whose niche has but a name, 
Too valiant to forget, to base for fame ! 

Honor to every nameless, fallen one ! 
Honor them all, each one the country's son ! 

Stone for their fitting monument 

Nature to Art has kindly lent. 
And every block that lifts this tapering spire 
Is sacred as if touched with holy fire. 

First on the soil the flag we love to name 
Flew in the wind, a never-dying flame ! 

Giving a heart-beat to the land. 

Binding it with a silken band — 
An amulet where'er its name is spoken — 
'Gainst which no sword shall ever fall unbroken ! 

And when this ceremonial pomp shall pass, 

And undisturbed shall glow and fade the grass, 
While storm and sun and shadow chase 
Across each bronze, stern-featured face. 

Yet shall this place to many a one be dear ; 

And Liberty shall love to linger here ! 

To multitudes who come with pilgrim feet 
The sculptured tablets will their tales repeat : 

Again in fancy will be seen 

The red-coats on the meadows green, 
And Jane McCrea shall leave her pillow gory, 
Or hearts be moved by Lady Acland's story. 

For she whose love was greater than her fears. 
Who sought our camp and conquered it with tears, 

Was but a type of woman's heart — 

Which ever bravely plays its part — 



272 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

Which soothes in peace, in war gives cheering word, 
Melts lead to ball and reaches down the sword 

Long may our tribute to the brave endure, 
Here where the winds and waters journey pure, 

And give to all who on it gaze 

The spirit of those olden days, 
When love of right and liberty unbound 
The strongest clasp that loved ones threw around. 

Speak ! Sons of Saratoga here to-day, 
Shall it not be this valley's boast to say : 

The soil of Saratoga sends 

The kind of man that never bends, 
Whether in council hall a vote he wield 
Or grasps a gun upon a battle-field ? 

And you, fair village, with your skyward spires. 
Your leisurely canal, your factory fires. 

Keep for yourself as fair a fame 

As his who gave to you a name — 
The courtly soldier gentlemen who now, 
Kindly in bronze, meets you with open brow. 

England ! a foe no longer, peace to thee ! 

A common lineage throbs beneath the sea; 
And though this day brings nearer heart 
The nation's friends who took our part, 

We send to her who rules thy fair demesnes 

Greeting from sixty million kings and queens. 

The nation that forgets its Marathon 
Has lost the choicest glory it has won. 

Then let this granite shaft of grace 

Forever be a rallying place 
For Hberty and honor, till the day 
The stone is dust, the river dried away ! 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 273 

And when, a century hence, this column hath 
Whirled with the world through space its spiral path, 

And men of grander, later days, 

With faces strange, upon it gaze ; 
'Twill draw our thought, like lightning from the skies : 
The man who dies for cou7itry never dies I 



THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER, PARA- 
PHRASED FOR THE OCCASION BY 
COLONEL B. C. BUTLER* 

Read by William L. Stone, Secretary of the 
Saratoga Monument Association. 

O SAY, can you see, by the dawn's early light. 

On Saratoga's broad plains what so proudly is 

streaming. 
Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the 

perilous fight, 
O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly 

streaming? 
For our fathers this day to this field made their way 
To glory in the conquest of the foe's proud array. 
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave. 

In its field stood the plough, the axe ceased in the wood, 
From his log cabin gladly the wild hunter sallied, 

From city and glen they came like a flood 

To the ranks where the brave and the valiant 
were rallied. 

* Colonel Benjamin C. Butler, a distinguished lawyer 
for many years of Saratoga Springs, N. Y. He always 
took great interest in everything relating to the Revo- 
lutionary period. He died about 1879. 



274 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

O let Stillwater's Heights and Saratoga's dread fight 
Tell how nobly our sires fought and bled for the right 
While the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave. 

This day, when our sires trod on sceptre and chain, 

And the foes of proud Britain were scattered before us, 
Then went up to heaven with loudest acclaim 

From the hearts of true freemen, that victory is o'er us. 
'Twas Huzzah ! Huzzah ! from the lake to the shore. 
Our cause it has triumphed, we are subjects no more — 
The star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave. 

O, thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand 

Between their loved home and the foes' desolation, 
Blest with victory and peace, may the heaven-blest land 
Praise the power that hath blest and preserved it a 
nation. 
Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just, 
And this be our motto, " In God is our trust," 
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave. 



APPENDIX I. 

THE RELATIVE FORCES OF THE TWO 
ARMIES AT THE SURRENDER. 

FORCE UNDER GATES. 

In Volume IX. of the manuscript papers of General 
Gates, in the Library of the New York Historical 
Society, is the official written return of the number 
of Gates's army present at the surrender of Burgoyne. 
It is entitled "A General Return of the Army com- 
manded by Major-General Gates at the Convention of 
Saratoga, October 17th, 1777," and gives the numbers 
and commands as follows : 

Continental Brigades and Corps, 

Nixon's 1430 

Poor's 1 ,466 

Glover's 1.479 

Patterson's 1,300 

Learned's 1,257 

Morgan's Corps 712 

Engineers and Artificers 72 7,716 

Militia^ Brigades and Corps. 

Warner's i,37i 

Annexed to Poor's 933 

" Glover's 610 

Patterson's 468 3,382 

11,098 



276 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

In his " Narrative," p. 27, Burgoyne says : "I shall 
close the whole of this by delivering at your table, 
from the hands of my secretary, an authenticated return 
of the force of General Gates, signed by himself, and 
the truth of it will be supported from ocular testimony 
by every officer of the British Army." It is dated Oc- 
tober 1 6th, 1777, and is printed and apparently care- 
fully tabulated in full in the Appendix to the " State 
of the Expedition," and states his entire force as 18,624. 
Why there should be such a great discrepancy from 
the original manuscript return above given is not easily 
explained, unless the following extract from Dr. Gor- 
don's " History," Vol. II., p. 268, American edition, does 
so : " Burgoyne was desirous of a general return of the 
army commanded by Gates at the time of the con- 
vention. The latter understood him, and was careful 
not to lessen the return a single man. . . . The num- 
ber of the militia was continually varying, and many 
of them were at a considerable distance from the camp.' 

FORCE UNDER BURGOYNE. 

The army which took the field in July, 1777, con- 
sisted of seven battalions of British infantry — viz. : 
9th, 20th, 2ist, 24th, 47th, 53d, and 62d regiments, of 
each of which (as also of three regiments left in Can- 
ada) the flank companies were detached to form a corps 
of grenadiers and light infantry, under Majors Ac- 
land and the Earl of Balcarras. The German troops con- 
sisted of a few Hessian rifles (the regiment of Hesse- 
Hanau), a corps of dismounted dragoons, and a mixed 
force of Brunswickers. The artillery was composed of 
511 rank and file, including 100 Germans, with a large 
number of guns, the greater part of which, however, 
were employed only on the lakes. The ordnance 
which accompanied the force on their line of march 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 277 

consisted of thirty-eight pieces of light artillery attached 
to columns, and a pair of six twenty-four pounders, 
six twelve-pounders, and four howitzers. 

The Royal Army was divided into three brigades 
under Major-General Phillips, of the Royal Artillery, 
and Brigadier-Generals Fraser and Hamilton. The 
German troops were distributed among the three bri- 
gades, with one corps of reserve under Colonel (Briga- 
dier-General) Breymann, and were immediately com- 
manded by Major-General Riedesel. Colonel Kingston, 
and Captain Money acted as adjutant and quarter- 
master-general, and Sir James Gierke (killed at Sara- 
toga in the action of October 7th) and Lord Peter- 
sham (afterward Earl of Harrington) were aides-de- 
camp to General Burgoyne. 

General Burgoyne's original manuscript (also among 
the Gates; papers in the New York Historical Society 
Library), entitled " State of the British Troops at the 
Convention the 17th October, 1777," and " Liste de la 
Force du Corps des Troupes Allemands,* le jour de 

* A great deal of nonsense has been written in con- 
demnation of the English Government employing Ger- 
mans in the war for the subjugation of her revolted 
American colonies. But does any soldier work for 
pure patriotism and not for hire.? Besides, at that 
time, the German soldier belonged body and soul to 
him to whom he had sold himself: he had no coun- 
try ; he was severed from every tie — in fact, he was, 
in every sense of the word, tht property of his military 
lord, who could do with him as he saw fit. Again, it 
may well be asked, wherein did this action of the Brit- 
ish Government differ from that of the United States, 
employing in our late Civil War recruiting agents in the 
different German ports for the express purpose of fill- 



278 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

la Convention le 1 7™ d'Octobre, 1777," both on one 
sheet, signed by himself separately in his own hand, 
and delivered to General Gates, gives all his regiments, 
the strength of each, and the total force he surrendered, 
as follows : 

" Regiments. Rank and File. 

9 411 

20 367 

21 412 

24 440 

47 342 

62 277 

Canadian Companies of Grenadiers and 
Light Infantry 345 

Lieutenant Nutt, of 33d Detachment, 
doing duty with Artillery 95 

Royal Artillery 212 

2,901 
Officers of all grades 478 

3.379 
"J. Burgoyne." 

*' ]^tat General ss 

Regt. des Dragones 36 

Bat. des Grenadiers 270 

Regt. de Rhetz 420 

" de Riedesel 457 

" de Specht 414 

Bat. F. L. de Barnes 182 



ing up her depleted armies, and also purchasing sub- 
stitutes in Canada ? 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 279 

Regt. de Hes. Hanau 525 

Artillerie de Hes. Hanau 75 



2,412 
'• J. Burgoyne." 

The endorsement on the back of the return is : 

" English 3.379 

German 2,4 1 2 

In all 5'79i" 

Dr. Gordon, whose statements have been proved in 
most every case unusually accurate, also gives the 
number 5791. 

APPENDIX II. 

GENERAL HORATIO GATES. 

As a sketch has been given of Burgoyne, it seems 
well to say something of General Gates, though he 
really deserves no recognition except as having received 
the sword of Burgoyne ; for he appears to have been 
utterly lacking in personal courage, having not only, 
in anticipation of the defeat of the American army at 
Saratoga, had his wagoners keep their horses hitched 
to the wagons, to be in readiness to retreat in case the 
day went against him,* but in his subsequent duel 

* While Gates cannot of course be censured for 
guarding against every emergency, he certainly looked 
forward to a possible retreat ; and he was, to say the 
least, not animated by the spirit which led Cortez to 
burn his ships behind him. At the beginning of the 
battle Quartermaster General Lewis was directed to 



280 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

with Wilkinson, and at the unfortunate battle of Cam- 
den — in which De Kalb, at the sacrifice of his own 
life, played the same role to Gates, though without 
the same result, that Arnold did at the battle of Sara- 
toga — he showed the same white feather. 

General Gates was born in Maiden, England, in 
1728. The story told by that unmitigated old woman 
gossip. Sir Horace Walpole, that he was a natural son 
of Sir Robert Walpole (the father of Horace) is utterly 
without foundation.'^ He was born in lawful wedlock, 

take eight men with him to the field to convey to Gates 
information from time to time concerning the progress 
of the action. At the same time, the baggage trains 
were all loaded up ready to move at a moment's 
notice. The first information that arrived represented 
the British troops to exceed the Americans, and the 
trains were ordered to move on ; but by the time they 
were under motion, more favorable news was received, 
and the order was countermanded. Thus they con- 
tinued to move on and halt alternately until the joyful 
news — " The British have retreated" — rang through 
the camp, which reaching the attentive guard of the 
teamsters, they all with one accord swung their hats, 
and gave three long and loud cheers. The glad tidings 
were transmitted with such rapidity from one to 
another that by the time the victorious troops had 
returned to their quarters, the American camp was 
thronged with inhabitants from the surrounding country 
and formed a scene of the greatest exultation. (Stone's 
" Burgoyne's Campaign.") 

'^' Horace Walpole seems to have had a monomania 
on the subject of natural sons. See sketch of Bur- 
goyne, afite, where he makes that general a natural son 
of Lord Bingley — a statement also utterly without 
legal foundation. 



Tlie Burgoyne Ballads. 281 

his parents having been the butler and the housekeeper 
of the Duke of Leeds. He entered the army — doubt- 
less under the auspices of that duke — when a mere 
youth, and served in the command of the king's New 
York Independent Company. He displayed so much 
ability that, in 1755, he was stationed at Hahfax, 
N. S., where, under the patronage of the Honorable 
Edward Cornwallis, he rose rapidly to the rank of 
major. He was with Braddock in his disastrous 
campaign, receiving a shot through the body at the 
slaughter of the Monongahela. At the beginning of the 
Revolution he offered his sword to Congress ; and in 
July, 1775, he received from that body the commission 
of adjutant-general Two years later, through cabals 
in Congress, he was appointed to supersede Schuyler; 
and having reaped the fruits of what that general had 
so carefully sown, and having also, by the merest 
accident, received the sword of Burgoyne, he en- 
deavored to supplant Washington, and was appointed 
to the command of the Southern Department."^" His 
disastrous defeat at Camden, however, and his 
irresolute, not to say cowardly conduct on that 

'^' Flushed with his fortuitous success, or rather with 
the success attending his fortuitous position, he did not 
wear his honors gained at Saratoga with any remarka- 
ble meekness. On the contrary, his bearing toward 
the commander-in-chief was far from respectful. He 
did not even write to Washington on the occasion of 
the victory until after a considerable time had elapsed ; 
and it was not until November 2d that he deigned 
to communicate to the commander-in-chief a word 
upon the subject, and then only incidentally, as 
though it were a matter of but secondary import- 
ance. 



282 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 



occasion* soon pricked the bubble of his reputation ; 
and his subsequent life was mostly passed in compara- 
tive obscurity. At the close of the war he retired to his 
estate in Virginia, where he lived until 1 790, when he 
removed to New York City. In 1800 he was elected 
to the New York State Legislature, but for political 
reasons resigned soon after taking his seat. His death 
occurred, after a long illness, at his house, now the 
corner of Twenty-second Street and Second Avenue, 
then the Bloomingdale Pike. He is buried in Trinity 
Churchyard.f 

* " I will bring the rascals back with me into line," 
exclaimed Gates, as the miHtia broke and fled at Camden; 
and leaving De Kalb to bear the brunt of the attack, 
he spurred after them, not drawing rein till he reached 
Charlotte, sixty miles from the field of battle !" (Green's 
German Element in the War of American Indepen- 
dence^ Perhaps, however, Gates's horse was unman- 
ageable and took the bit into his own mouth ! 

f Through the courtesy of my friend, Rev. Dr. Mor- 
gan Dix, I am enabled to set the much-mooted question 
as to where Gates is buried, at rest, as will be seen by 
the following leaf from the Register of Trinity par- 
ish, kindly copied and sent to me by that gentleman : 



i8o5. 


Persons Deceased. 


Where Buried. 


Age. 


Years. 


Months. 


April II. 


General Horatio Gates. 


Trinity 


78 









A true copy from the Register of Burials of the par- 
ish of Trinity Church in the city of New York, 

Attest : Morgan Dix, Rector. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 283 

Gates was a man of great plausibility and address, of 
gentlemanly instincts, of a handsome person and fair 
education, and a great lion in society. Though having 
many faults, the chief of which was an overweening 
confidence in his own ability, combined with arrogance, 
untruthfulness and apparently a lack of personal cour- 
age, he had also some noble traits of character. 
Before removing to New York from Virginia, he 
emancipated his slaves, providing for such of them as 
could not take care of themselves. In his domestic 
relations he was an affectionate husband and father,* 
and during the last years of his life a sincere Christian. 
He married Mary, only child of James Valence, of 
Liverpool, who, at her father's death, before the Rev- 
olutionary War, emigrated to this country, bringing 
with her $450,000. In the struggle for independence 
Mrs. Gates freely expended nearly all of her fortune 
in a lavish hospitality upon her husband's companions 
in arms, especially those who were in indigent circum- 
stances; and many of the Revolutionary heroes were 
participants in her bounty, particularly Thaddeus 
Kosciusko,f who, when wounded, lay six months at 

* For a charming and loving letter to his wife, just 
after the battles of Saratoga, see my Burgoynes 
Campaign. 

f There are, perhaps, few now living who are aware 
that Kosciusko left behind him in America a testimo- 
nial of his fervent love of liberty, as eminently 
characteristic of the man as was his famous reply to 
the Emperor Paul, who on Kosciusko's release from 
prison wished to restore him his sword. " I have no 
need of a sword, since I have no longer a country !" 

The will of Kosciusko (on record in the clerk's 
office of Albemarle Co., Va.), dated "Wills, 1819," 



284: The JBurgoyne Ballads. 

her house, tenderly nursed by herself and her husband. 
Mrs. Gates, who survived her husband, left the residue 

was attested by Thomas Jefferson. The will was 
written by Kosciusko in 1798, on the occasion of 
his visit to America during that year, when, having 
been released from prison, he came to renew his old 
associations. The will reads as follows: " I, Thaddeus 
Kosciusko, being just on my departure from America, 
do hereby declare and direct that should I make no 
other testamentary disposition of my property in the 
United States, I hereby authorize my friend, Thomas 
Jefferson, to employ the whole thereof in purchasing 
negroes from among his own or any others, and giving 
them liberty in my name ; in giving them an education 
in trades or otherwise, and in having them instructed 
for their new condition in the duties of morality, 
which may make them good neighbors, good fathers 
or mothers, and in their duties as citizens, teaching 
them to be defenders of their liberties and country, 
and of the good order of society, and in whatsoever 
may make them happy and useful. And I make 
the said Thomas Jefferson executor of this, 5th day of 
May, 1798. T. Kosciusko. 

It is not known in what the property of Kosciusko 
consisted (very likely land given him, as to Steuben, 
John Rose and others, by Congress, in recognition of 
their services) nor, indeed, what disposition was made 
of it. But whatever the property may have been, the 
desire that it should be put to the use indicated by the 
will is highly characteristic of the philanthropic patriot, 
whose whole life was one of continual sacrifice to the 
well-being of others ; who had early emancipated his 
own Polish serfs ; who had given money and personal 
service to the cause of American freedom ; and whose 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 285 

of her fortune ($90,000) to several relatives, whose 
descendants are still living in New York and Phila- 
delphia.*^' 

To sum up, had not Gates allowed his ambition to 
overstep the bounds of loyalty to his chief, he would 
have remained among the first of our Revolutionary 
heroes. As it is, he is known merely as the chance 
conqueror at Saratoga, and as one, moreover, who, by 
base chicanery, endeavored to the utmost of his 
ability to supplant Washington himself. 



APPENDIX III. 

BURGOYNE'S PROCLAMATION. 

{From the Providence " Gazette' of August i6tk, 1777.) 

[The following address from General Burgoyne to 
the Tories and timid Whigs was last week received 
from Rhode Island, and is here inserted {Connecticut 
Jouriial, August 27th, 1777) lest they should suspect 
that any Matter is suppressed which they might sup- 
pose tended to their political salvation. As this per- 
formance is written in the true Rhodomontade and 
bombastic Stile of a Don Quixote, and absolutely 
contains almost as many Falsehoods as Assertions, it 
is judged unnecessary for the present to make any 



last and most strenuous exertions, that found a sad 
culmination in his imprisonment for years and exile 
from his country, were in behalf of that down-trodden 
fatherland. (See Scribjters Monthly, February, 1879.) 
'^Letter from Thomas Singleton, of Philadelphia, 
Pa. (a descendant of Mrs. Gates), to the writer. 



286 The JBurgoyne Ballads, 

Remarks thereon. It may, however, not be improper 
to observe (from authentic Intelligence received) 
that since this curious address made its appearance, 
Burgoyne's motley troops (composed of black and 
white savages) have actually butchered and scalped 3. 
considerable number of those very Tories to whom he 
had promised Protection, and whose " Undertakings" 
he had plighted his Faith to assist and encotirage?^ 

Proclamation. 

By JOHN BURGOYNE, Esquire, etc., etc., Lieu- 
tenant-General of his Majesty s Forces in AfJterica, 
Colonel of the Queens Regiment of Light Dragoons, 
Governor of Fort William in North Britain, one of 
the Representatives of the Commons of Great Britain 
in Parliament [^author of a celebrated Tragic Comedy, 
called the Blockade of Boston\ and commandi7ig a7t 
ar7ny and Fl^et in aii Expeditiou from Cafiada, etc., 
etc. 

" The forces entrusted to my command are designed 
to act in concert, and upon a common principle, with 
the fiumerous armies and fleets, which already display 
in every quarter of America the power, the mercy of 
the king; the cause in which the British arms are 
thus exerted appeals to the most affecting interest of 
the human heart, and the military servants of the 
crown, at first called forth for the sole purpose of 
restoring the rights of the constitution, and duty to 
their sovereign, the other extensive incitements, which 
spring from a due sense of the general privileges of 
mankind. To the eyes and ears of the temperate part 
of the public, and to the breasts of suffering thousands 
in the provinces be the melancholy appeal. Whether 
the present unnatural rebellion has not been made the 
foundation of the completest system of tyranny that 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 287 

ever God, in His displeasure, suffered for a time to 
be exercised over a froward and stubborn generation, 
arbitrary imprisonments, confiscation of property, perse- 
cution and torhire, unprecedented in the inquisitions 
of the Romish Church, are among the palpable enor- 
mities that verify the affirmation. These are inflicted 
by assemblies and committees, who dare to profess 
themselves friends to liberty, upon the most qzciet 
subject, without distinction of age or sex, for the sole 
crime, often from the sole suspicion of having adhered 
in principle to the government under which they were 
born, and to which by every tie divine and human they 
owe allegiance. To consummate these shocking 
proceedings, the profanation of religion is added to 
the most profligate prostitution of common reason ! 
The consciences of men are set at naught, and multi- 
tudes are compelled not only to bear arms, but also 
to swear subjection to an usurpation they abhor. Ani- 
mated by these considerations, at the head of troops 
in the full powers of health, discipline and valor, deter- 
mined to strike when necessary, and anxious to save 
when possible, I, by these presents, invite and exhort 
all persons in all places where the progress of this army 
may point, and by the blessing of God I will extend 
it far, to maintain such a conduct as may justify me in 
protecting their lands, habitations and families. The 
intention of this address is to hold forth security, not 
depredation, to the country; to those whose spirit and 
principle may induce them to partake in the glorious 
task of redeeming their countrymen from dungeons, 
and re-establishing the blessings of legal government, 
I offer encouragement and employment ; and upon the 
first intelligence of their association, I will find means 
to assist their undertakings. The domestic, the indus- 
trious, the infirm, I am desirous to protect, provided 



288 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

they remain quietly at their houses, that they do not 
suffer their cattle to be removed, or their corn or forage 
to be secreted or destroyed ; that they do not breakup 
their bridges or roads, or by any other acts, directly or 
indirectly, endeavor to obstruct the operations of the 
king's troops, or supply or assist those of the enemy. 
Every species of provision brought to my camp will 
be paid for at an equitable rate, in solid coin. 

"In consciousness of C/2r2>/2^?zzVjj/, my royal master's 
clemency, and the honor of soldiership, I have dwelt 
upon this invitation, and wished for more persuasive 
terms to give it Expression: and let not people be led 
to disregard it by considering the immediate situation 
of my camp : I have but to give stretch to the 
Indian forces under my direction— and they amount 
to thousands — to overtake the hardened enemies of 
Great Britain and America : I consider them the 
same wherever they lurk. If notwithstanding these 
endeavors and sincere inclination to assist them, the 
frenzy of hostility should remain, I trust I shall 
stand acquitted in the eyes of God and of men in 
denouncing and executing the vengeance of the State 
against the wilful outcast. The messengers of justice 
and of wrath await them in the field, and devastation, 
famine, and every concomitant horror that a reluctant 
but indispensable prosecution of military duty must 
occasion will bar the way to their return. 

"J. BURGOYNE. 

" Camp at the River Bouquett \sic Bouquet] June 23^, 
1777. By order of his Excellency, the Lieutenant 
General. 

" Robert Kingston, 

" Secretary]^ 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 289 

Comments on the above. 

Now, while Burgoyne was greatly ridiculed by the 
patriots of the day jfor this proclamation, yet from the 
standpoint of those who most conscientiously believed 
it was wrong to rebel against the king and his legiti- 
mate government, it seems to me that he only did 
what his duty required. Seen now from a distance, it 
must be admitted that there were many good men — 
men of established integrity — who believed the colonists 
were wrong in the stand they took. I know it is the 
habit to ridicule all such ; but while myself believing 
that the colonists were right in throwing off the yoke 
of the mother-country — which had become most in- 
tolerable — yet it seems to me that some charity should 
be exercised toward those who conscientiously at the 
time believed the contrary. Hence this practice of 
sneering at those who were not willing at once to re- 
nounce their allegiance to their king is not to be com- 
mended. Take, for example, our late Civil War. We 
of the North believed that the South had no right to 
rebel ; yet the right to rebel is an inherent right. We 
of the North put the rebellion down, and rightly ; still, 
had the South been sticcessftd they would have 
been considered deserving of praise and would have 
been patriots among their own section. They did not ; 
hence they were rebels. In the same way, had the 
colonists in our Revolutionary contest been un- 
successful, they would have been rebels. Success, 
after all, makes the great difference. Of course, it must 
be taken into account that the South were fighting, so 
to speak, for slaver y,\ii\\\Q}!\ in itself damned their cause, 
2sx\di jtcstly. Still, I think that the inherent right to 
rebel is universally admitted. As I say, had the 
American colonists not been successful they would 



290 2'he Burgoyne Ballads. 

have been rebels, and Washington an arch conspira- 
tor. They were successful — hence it was all right ; in 
other words, success is the great arbiter of future 
opinion. 

Burgoyne, therefore, in his proclamation, as a loyal 
subject of his king, did right and does not deserve 
the sneers which have been thrown at him. Had 
the cause of the crown succeeded, Arnold, even, would 
have been considered only a man who went back to 
his allegiance, in the same way, that, had the South suc- 
ceeded, Lee and Davis would now be looked upon as sav- 
iours instead of rebels. Still, this does not justify Arnold 
in betraying the cause of the colonists, which he had 
espoused. Had he come out frankly and above board 
and said to Washington, " I am convinced that I have 
been wrong, and I herewith renounce my position as 
general," no sensible man could have blamed him. 
His treachery, however, puts him beyond the pale of 
any sympathy. Burgoyne, however, as a loyal sub- 
ject of his king does not merit sarcasm. 



APPENDIX I¥. 

TIMOTHY MURPHY, THE SHARP- 
SHOOTER. 

The soldier who shot General Eraser was Timothy 
Murphy, a native of Pennsylvania. He enlisted in 
Northumberland County in July, 1775, in Captain 
John Loudon's company, First Pennsylvania Conti- 
nental Line. He was detached with Captain James 
Parr, who succeeded Loudon, under Morgan, when that 
officer was ordered by Washington to the assistance of 



The Burgoyne Ballads, 291 

General Gates, on August i6th, 1777, and arrived in 
Gates's camp on the 2 2d of that month.'"* 

The first we hear of Murphy was his being one of 
the best shots among Morgan's sharpshooters. At 
the second battle of Saratoga the latter noticed repeat- 
edly during that conflict a noble-looking British officer, 
who, mounted upon a magnificent black charger, 
dashed from one end of the line to the other, appear- 
ing wherever the danger was greatest, and by his 
judgment, courage and activity, frequently retrieving 
the fortunes of the day when all seemed on the point 
of being lost. He recollected having seen this 
officer in the battle of September 19th, having on that 
occasion admired him for the skill and bravery which 
he displayed. While this officer lived, Morgan 
considered the issue of the contest a doubtful one. 
He therefore, as stated in the text, selected twelve of 
his best marksmen, and leading them to a suitable 
position, whence he pointed out the doomed officer, he 
told them to kill him when next he came within reach 
of their rifles.f Several of the sharp-shooters discharged 
their pieces without effect, but when Murphy fired 
Fraser fell. 

Nor, while in Gates's camp, was he distinguished 
solely as a '' crack shot." His coolness and daring also 
made him a man of mark. It is related that "just be- 
fore the first battle of Saratoga he went out of the 
American camp, and having ascertained the British 
countersign, he went into one of their tents, and 
seeing an officer writing alone, he whispered to him 
(pointing to his hunting-knife) that if he spoke a word 

* Letter to the author from Hon. James B. Linn, 
of Harrisburg, Pa. 

f Graham's " Lite of Morgan." 



292 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

he would make daylight shine through him. The offi- 
cer, not having a sword or pistols near him, reluctantly 
marched before him to the American camp. At the 
last battle of Saratoga, in which both armies were 
engaged, Murphy was, as he states, within five feet of 
Arnold when he passed over the fortifications, sword in 
hand. Murphy to the day of his death ascribed the 
chief honor of Burgoyne's defeat to General Arnold, 
and believed the latter never would have betrayed 
his country had he received the honors he so richly 
merited." 

After the- capture of Burgoyne, Murphy returned 
with Morgan's corps to the Southern department, and 
was also present at the battle of Monmouth in June, 
1778.* A short time after that action, Lieutenant- 

* The effective usefulness of this famous body of 
experienced riflemen in checking the aggressive and 
savage bands of Indians which formed a portion of 
Burgoyne's army was soon apparent to General 
Gates, to whom Washington had sent it in August. 
The corps, as soon as it reached the Northern army, 
not only worsted the Indians in the various encoun- 
ters in which they became confronted, but it also 
created such a panic among the red men that the)'- at 
once lost all interest in fighting and scouting for Bur- 
goyne, and hastily departed for their homes. Gates 
then employed, the corps as sharp-shooters and skir- 
mishers, in which line of duty it did splendid service. 
After Washington's army had been compelled, as the 
result of the battle of Brandywine, to retire before the 
larger force of Sir William Howe, the commanding 
general's situation was such as to ask for its return to 
him. His letter to General Gates embodying the re- 
quest is as follows : 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 293 

Colonel William Butler, with the Fourth Pennsyl- 
vania Regiment and three companies of riflemen from 
Morgan's corps, under Major Posey, commanded by 
Captains Long of Maryland, and Parr and Simpson 
of the First Pennylvania, were ordered up to Albany 
and thence to Schoharie. Thus, Lieutenants Thomas 
Boyd and Timothy Murphy again went to New York 
to defend the frontier from the savage enemy ; and 
upon the disbanding of those troops — their term of 
enlistment having expired — Murphy and some others 
remained and served in the militia until the end of the 
war.^ His skill in the desultory war which the Indians 
carried on gave him so high a reputation, that though 
not nominally the commander, he usually directed all 

"Camp near Pottsgrove, September 24, 1777. 
Sir: This army has not been able to oppose Gen- 
eral Howe with the success that was wished, and 
needs a re-enforcement. I therefore request, if you 
have been so fortunate as to oblige General Burgoyne 
to retreat to Ticonderoga, or if you have not, and cir- 
cumstances will admit, that you will order Colonel 
Morgan to join me again with his corps. I sent him 
up when I thought you materially wanted him, and if 
his services can be dispensed with now, you will direct 
him to return immediately. You will perceive I do 
not mention this by way of command, but leave you 
to determine upon it according to your situation ; if 
they come, they should proceed by way of water from 
Albany as low down as Peekskill ; in such case you 
will give Colonel Morgan the necessary orders to join 
me with dispatch. I am, sir, your most obedient 
servant, 

" Go. Washington. 
" Major-General Gates." 



294 TliC JBurgoyne Ballads. 

the movements of the scouts that were sent out, and 
on many important occasions the commanding offi- 
cers found it dangerous to neglect his advice ; his 
double rifle, his skill as a marksman, and his fleetness, 
either in retreat or pursuit, made him an object both 
of dread and of vengeance to the Indians ; they 
formed many plans to destroy him, but he always 
eluded them, and sometimes made them suffer for 
their temerity. 

He fought the Indians with their own weapons. 
When circumstances permitted, he tomahawked and 
scalped his fallen enemy ; and he boasted after the war 
that he had slain forty of the enemy with his own 
hand, more than half of whom he had scalped : he 
took delight in perilous adventures, and seemed to 
love danger for its own sake. 

The Indians were unable to conjecture how he 
could discharge his rifle twice without having time to 
reload ; and his singular good fortune in escaping un- 
hurt led them to suppose that he was attended by 
some invisible being, who warded off theh^- bullets and 
sped his with unerring certainty to the mark. When 
they had learned the mystery of his doubled-barrelled 
rifle, they were careful not to expose themselves too 
much until he had fired twice, knowing that he must 
have time to reload his piece before he could do them 
further injury. 

One day having separated from his party, he was 
pursued by a number of Indians, all of whom he out- 
ran, excepting one ; Murphy turned round, fired upon 
this Indian, and killed him. Supposing that the 
others had given up the pursuit, he stopped to strip 
the dead, when the rest of his pursuers came in sight. 
He snatched the rifle of his fallen foe, and with it 
killed one of his pursuers; the rest, now sure of their 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 295 

prey, with a yell of joy heedlessly rushed on, hoping 
to make him their prisoner. He was ready to drop 
down with fatigue, and was likely to be overtaken, 
when, turning round, he discharged the remaining bar- 
rel of his rifle, and killed the foremost of the Indians. 
The rest, astonished at his firing three times in succes- 
sion, fled, crying out that he had " a great medicine of a 
gun that would shoot all day without loading." In- 
deed, so dangerous was Murphy regarded, that it was 
not long before the Tories set an extra price on his 
scalp — a price that was never paid, although many 
Indians lost their scalp in trying to win the reward. 
One of the attempts to capture him which is still 
handed down in Schoharie tradition, as having occurred 
toward the close of the Revolution, was as follows : 
Murphy had a cow, on the neck of which he had placed 
a bell, that he might the better find her in the woods. 
A shrewd Indian took the bell off the cow's neck, and 
having placed it on his own, went jingling it about in 
the woods, hoping by this means to entice the cow's 
owner within killing or capturing distance. The scout, 
however, knew too well the different music produced 
by a cow and an Indian ; and so driving the animal 
home from another part of the woods, he left the 
" ding-dong" warrior to the enjoyment of his own wit. 
On another occasion, while on Sullivan's expedition, 
he and twenty-five others were surrounded by five hun- 
dred Tories and Indians, under Butler and Brant. Two 
attempts to cut their way out had resulted in failure, 
with the loss of seventeen of their number. The third 
attempt was more successful ; for Murphy, having 
tumbled a huge warrior into the dust (which caused 
his dusky brethren to laugh even in the heat of battle), 
effected an opening in the circle, through which his 
comrades fled — sative qui pent — the Indians giving 



296 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

chase. After a little Murphy observed that he had 
distanced all his pursuers except two — one a tall and 
the other a short Indian. Several times as they neared 
him he would raise his rifle (which was unloaded) as 
if to shoot, whereupon they would fall back. Finding 
as he ran that, owing to the swelling of his feet, his 
moccasins began to pain him, he opened a clasp-knife, 
and while running slit the tops of the moccasins (at 
the risk of cutting the tendons of his feet) and so got 
relief. Shortly after, entering a swale and getting his 
feet caught in the long grass, he fell at full length. It 
was to this at first seemingly untoward accident that 
he owed his temporary safety and final escape ; for the 
long grass affording a favorable place for concealment, 
he lay still until his pursuers had passed on. Loading 
his rifle, he went on his way rejoicing at his fortunate 
escape, and with reason ; for had he been captured he 
knew that any hope for mercy would have been in 
vain, since at that very time he had an Indian's scalp 
in his pocket and the same hairless redskin's moccasins 
on his feet. He had not gone far, however, before he 
saw an Indian approaching him. The discovery was 
mutual, and they simultaneously took trees. After 
dodging each other for some time, Murphy resorted 
to a very old and, one would think, a worn-out ruse. 
He drew his ramrod, and placing his hat upon it, gently 
moved it on one side of the tree. The Indian at once 
put a ball through it, and it dropped. Whereupon, 
running up to obtain the scalp, he received Murphy's 
bullet in his breast; and as he fell he exclaimed, 
" O-nah !" Lieutenant Boyd, the commander of the 
party, and who attempted to escape with Murphy, was 
less fortunate. Less fleet of foot, he was captured and 
subjected to horrible torture. The Seneca Indians, 
under Little Beard and instigated by Butler, made an 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 297 

incision in his abdomen, fastened his intestines to a 
tree, and compelled him to walk around it until they 
were all drawn out. They then enlarged his mouth, 
dug his nails out, cut his tongue out and his ears off, 
cut his nose off and put it in his mouth, dug his eyes 
out, and as he was dying cut off his head, which was 
their most humane act. "After this," says a writer 
personally cognizant of the affair, " there began to be 
mysterious disappearances of Tories and Indians ; and 
it was noticed that, coincident with each disappear- 
ance, there would be a brush-heap fire in the vicinity, 
in which the missing person was last seen. It is to be 
supposed that calcined bones might have been found 
by those who cared to look in the ashes of these brush 
fires. The remaining Tories and Indians took the hint, 
and left that part of the country, so that the inhabitants 
at length breathed freer." 

At the close of the war, Murphy, who had mean- 
time married, instead of returning to his native State, 
Pennsylvania, settled in Schoharie as a farmer. But, 
if tradition is to be believed, his old habits still clung 
to him. When peace was declared many of the Scho- 
harie Indians had the temerity to return and settle 
again among a people whose houses and barns they 
had burned and whose friends and relatives had fallen 
beneath their tomahawks. Among them was one 
Indian, named Seth Henry, who had killed more Scho- 
harie people than any other man. His nature, even 
for an Indian, seemed an unusually cruel one ; and 
he would sometimes leave a war-club upon the dead 
body of his victim, with a horrid row of notches cut 
on it, each notch indicating a scalp taken. An ener- 
getic savage, he once led a party from Fort Niagara 
in the winter to capture certain Schoharie patriots ; 
and he succeeded, travelling six hundred miles, though, 



298 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

to do so. He, too, had the audacity to come back, but 
he was much upon his guard. One day he started to 
go from one house to another. Murphy was also ob- 
served to go in the same direction shortly afterward ; 
and it is a curious coincidence that, as far as can be 
ascertained, Seth Henry never reached his destination, 
nor was he ever afterward seen either alive or dead. 

Murphy's passions were easily aroused, and as is the 
case with such natures, as easily subdued. The follow- 
ing anecdote is an instance in point.* Some time in 
the latter part of the Revolution Murphy had charge 
of a small scout which went to reconnoitre in the 
vicinity of Oquago. While there they took three pris- 
oners, one of whom was a Scotch lad, and soon after 
started on their return to Schoharie. In the night the 
boy escaped, taking along Murphy's rifle, an act not 
very pleasing to the fearless ranger. Some months 
afterward the boy was retaken by another scout, and 
with him the stolen firelock. When its owner learned 
that the boy was taken, and was approaching as a pris- 
oner, his passions took fire, and he declared his inten- 
tion of killing him, arming himself with a tomahawk 
for that purpose. Elerson, a fellow-scout, and who 
told this anecdote to Mr. Simms, reasoned the matter 
with him. He told him to put himself in the boy's 
place, and asked if ke, similarly situated, would not 
have acted in the same manner as the boy had done. 
Murphy's better nature soon yielded to this reasoning; 
his anger was appeased, and the boy was brought into 
his presence without receiving any injury. The boy 
was afterward taken to Albany and sold, according to 
the custom of those times, into servitude for a short 
period. Murphy, speaking of this affair after the war, 

* Related by Jeptha R. Simms. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 299 

expressed his gratitude that he was prevented by his 
friend from injuring the lad who had stolen his gun. 

He had also a good heart. On one occasion, on 
March 15th, 1784, the ice lodged in the river near Mid- 
dleburg and overflowed the flats near his residence. 
Many cattle and sheep were swept off" in the freshet 
and killed. In an attempt to save the family of John 
Adam Brown, a near neighbor, he waded into the water 
among the floating pieces of ice, and succeeded in bear- 
ing to a place of safety his two sons ; but Brown him- 
self and Lana, his only daughter, then about twelve 
years old, were, unfortunately, in the lower part of the 
house and were drowned. 

Many anecdotes are also told of Murphy's great skill 
as a marksman. The two following seem well authen- 
ticated, and are taken from Simms's ** Frontiersmen of 
New York :" 

During the winter of 1781-82 Murphy killed quite 
a number of deer on the Schoharie mountains, and 
dressed their pelts very handsomely. In the spring, to 
break the monotony of a camp life, he got up a shoot- 
ing match at the Upper Fort, by way of testing the 
skill of his comrades in arms in the sale of his deer- 
skins. He occasionally took a shot himself, and usu- 
ally won back his property ; but as some objected to 
his firing, he desisted, as he had been well paid for it, 
and whoever could bore off" the beautiful buff" leather. 
After the skins were all disposed of, " Now," says Mur- 
phy, " let us shoot for a gallon of rum." A large white 
oak tree was " blazed" near the ground, a line drawn 
round in the exposed wood, and in the circle a small 
piece of white paper was fastened by a brass nail. The 
distance fired was one hundred yards. Several close 
shots had been made, and it became Murphy's turn to 
fire. He laid down on the ground at full length, rest- 



300 TJie Burgoyne Ballads. 

ing his rifle on his hat, as others of his competitors had 
done, and after glancing over the barrel, he was heard 
to say, " Sure, and I believe I can see that nail." Again 
he sighted his piece ; it exploded and the paper fell. 
An examination showed a centre shot ; the ball had 
driven the nail exactly in. 

Again, in the fall of 1799, fom- Schoharie rifle- 
men of Revolutionary days and deeds met at the 
residence of Captain Jacob Hager, in Blenheim, on 
their return from either a hunt or a shooting 
match. Before separating, it was proposed to shoot 
at a mark. A target was made by pinning a small 
piece of white paper to a board some two feet long, 
and the parties repaired to a field a few rods south of the 
house. They paced off one hundred yards from their 
standing point, to which the target was taken by one of 
the four, who held it between his knees to receive the 
bullet of a comrade, who in turn held it for another, it 
being thus alternately held until all had fired. Each of 
the first three shots cut the edge of the paper — that 
of William Leek on the right, that of David Elerson 
on the left, that of a third, whose name is now for- 
gotten, on the bottom. Murphy made the last shot, 
and the paper fell. On examination it was found 
that his ball had driven the pin through the board.* 

* David Elerson, mentioned in the text, and who 
was a private in Captain Long's company of Mor- 
gan's rifle corps, and a companion of Murphy in many 
hazardous enterprises, related the following anecdote 
to Mr. Simms in 1837: "Morgan's riflemen had 
acquired much celebrity as marksmen while under 
Gates. When in the vicinity of Albany, on their 
return from the Northern army a gentleman near 
whose residence they halted expressed a wish to 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 301 

In person Murphy was stout and well made, with dark 
complexion, rather a large body and small limbs, hand- 
some in face, with jet black hair, and an eye that 
would kindle and flash like the lightning when 
excited. He was exceedingly quick in all his motions, 
and possessed an iron frame that nothing apparently 
could affect. What, moreover, is very remarkable, 
his body was never wounded or even scarred during 
the whole war.* 

"It was Murphy's misfortune," says Simms, " like 
many other master spirits of the Revolution, not to 
have the advantages of an early education, even such 
as our common schools now afford. In fact, he 
possessed not those elements of an education — the 
art of reading and writing. For this reason he 

witness their skill. The captain signified his will- 
ingness to gratify his curiosity, and a piece of paper 
was fastened upon a small poplar tree. Elerson 
handed his rifle — one of the best in the company — to 
John Gassaway, who took a surer aim than himself. 
The rifle was levelled one hundred yards distant from the 
mark and fired. The leaden messenger passed through 
the paper and the tree, splitting the latter several 
inches and ruining it. Said the gentleman, looking 
at his crippled tree, which had been converted into 
a weeping willow (it will be remembered that fashion 
had made the poplar a very desirable shade tree), ' I 
do not wonder the Indians are afraid of Morgan's 
riflemen, if that is the way they shoot' He then 
treated the company to liquor, as was the custom of 
the times, expressed his satisfaction at their skill, 
and the troops resumed their march." 

* Communicated to the writer by one who knows a 
friend of Murphy. 



302 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

declined accepting a proffered commission, know- 
ing that he would be subjected to much inconven- 
ience and be liable to be imposed upon by design- 
ing men. Had he been an educated man, he might 
have made another Wayne or Morgan ; but the want 
of the rudiments of an education compelled him to 
see others less fitted in other respects than himself 
occupying stations of profit and honor." At the 
termination of the Revolutionary war he took charge 
of his father-in-law's farm. Pie appears to have been 
a citizen much respected in his county, and as a 
father he was indulgent to a fault, having, says Simms, 
been known to bring home from Albany for a 
daughter some five or six dresses at one time. 

Although Murphy could neither read nor write, yet 
he was a powerful stump speaker, and for many years 
wielded powerful political influence in Schoharie 
County. He was largely instrumental in bringing his 
young friend and neighbor, the Honorable William C. 
Bouck, into public life, was zealous in obtaining for 
him the appointment of sheriff, and indirectly contrib- 
uted to his subsequent election as Governor. Murphy 
died of a cancer upon his neck, June 27th, 181 8, which 
was said by some to have been caused by his exposure 
while attempting to rescue the Brown family in 1 784, 
and by others, by the recoil of his rifle on his cheek.'^* 

*The late General Epaphras Hoyt, of Deerfield, 
Mass., a most accomplished writer and reliable historian, 
left at his death a work for publication, with maps, en- 
titled " Burgoyne's Campaign." He served under 
Gates, and his pubHshed letter on a visit to the Saratoga 
battlefields not only corroborates the above incidents 
in Murphy's life, but is a most valuable military criti- 
cism of those battles. We intend to give this letter 



The JBurgoyne Ballads. 303 

APPENDIX V. 

LADY HARRIET ACLAND. 

Two shining examples of female conjugal devotion 
stand out prominently in our Revolutionary annals — 
the Baroness Riedesel and Lady Harriet Acland. 
The life of the former has been given with accuracy 
in her " Letters and Journals :" that of the latter has 
never been narrated either with fulness or correctness. 
To supply this defect is the object of the present 
paper. 

Lady Harriet, as she was commonly called, was the 
fifth daughter of Stephen, first Earl of Ilchester, and 
a cousin of the celebrated Charles James Fox. She 
was born on January 3d, 1750. Her full name 
was Christian Henrietta Caroline Fox Strangways, 
and she was married in September, 1770, to John 
Dyke Acland, of Columb-John, Devonshire. Her 
elder sister was the Lady Susan O'Brien— mentioned 
in "Graydon's Memoirs" and in the writers " Life of 
Sir William Johnson" — who in June, 1765, was, with 
her husband, a recipient of the courtly hospitality of 
the baronet at Johnson Hall. By her marriage with 
William O'Brien, an actor, in the spring of the previ- 
ous year, she had alienated her family, and had conse- 
quently sailed with her husband for America, arriving 
in New York in April. Sir William Johnson was 
advised of their arrival by her uncle, the first Lord 
Holland, who in April wrote to him detailing the 



in our forthcoming work on "The Visits to the 
Saratoga Battlefield," shortly to be issued by Munsell's 
Sons. 



304 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

circumstances of the marriage, and requesting his 
friendly offices for his niece, who had "just emigrated 
to the wild woods of America." From letters of 
Lady Susan in the writer's possession it appears that 
her host and his Indian wife did everything in their 
power to render their visit agreeable, and that the 
baronet was equally at home whether entertaining the 
rude savage or the scion of a noble house. Molly 
Brant is spoken of particularly as a " well-bred and 
pleasant lady," who in many a ramble with her lady- 
ship proved a " delightful companion." Nor was this 
kindly feeling entirely one-sided. So much did his 
high-born guest interest Sir William in her favor that 
shortly after Lady Susan and her husband returned to 
New York he wrote a letter to Lord Holland begging 
that the young couple might be again received into 
the good graces of his family — urging, among other 
things, that O'Brien seemed to be a "very worthy 
young man, possessing in the highest degree the affec- 
tions of his wife." 

Lady Harriet appears to have been full as warm- 
hearted and romantic as her sister, and, although her 
affections did not lead her into defying the opinions 
of her family and making a runaway match, yet her 
conjugal love was equally shown by her braving the 
perils of a long ocean-voyage and enduring the trials 
and hardships of a camp-life in an enemy's country 
rather than be separated from the husband of her 
choice. 

When Burgoyne made up his staff" for his contem- 
plated campaign in America, he selected to command 
the grenadiers Major Acland, an officer greatly in his 
confidence and possessing high professional attain- 
ments and brilliant courage. Lady Harriet, like the 
Baroness Riedesel refusing to allow her husband 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 305 

to brave the perils of war alone, insisted upon 
accompanying him to Canada, where they arrived on 
the last day of June, 1776. Late in the fall of that 
year the Major, leaving his wife in Montreal, occupied 
Chambly with the Twentieth Regiment of foot. Soon 
after taking up his quarters in that fort he fell danger- 
ously ill ; and it was here, while languishing in a mtser- 
able log hut and destitute of the commonest comforts 
of life, that he was nursed back to health by his faith- 
ful wife, who upon hearing of his condition, in the 
face of the rigors of an unusually severe Canadian 
winter and of her own precarious state of health, had 
hurried on in an open sled to attend him. 

On the opening of the campaign the following year 
the army left its winter quarters, which it was destined 
never again to occupy, and pushed on to Ticonderoga. 
Lady Harriet, however, remained behind in Montreal, 
her husband, in view of the certain hazards of the 
approaching campaign, positively refusing her permis- 
sion to be his companion. But chance soon afforded 
this indomitable woman an opportunity of disregard- 
ing his commands. In the action of July 7th, at 
Hubbardtown, Major Acland was badly wounded. 
No sooner was this known by his wife when she left 
Montreal, and having, by the courtesy of General 
Carleton, been afforded every facility for passing up 
Lake Champlain, she rejoined her husband at Skenes- 
borough (Whitehall), whither he had been conveyed 
after the action of the 7th. After his recovery, which 
he owed in all probability to the careful nursing of his 
wife, he had no longer the heart to separate her from 
him ; and as soon as the army arrived at Fort Edward 
he obtained for her use a two-wheeled tumbrel which 
had been constructed by the artificers of the artillery 
— a vehicle somewhat similar to the carriajres used a 



306 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

century since for the mails upon the great roads of 
England. During the day she travelled with the bag- 
gage-train in the rear of the army, and at night she 
shared her husband's tent, which, as Major Acland 
commanded the grenadiers, was always the most 
advanced post. Indeed, it was this latter circum- 
stance that just before the army crossed the Hudson 
led to an accident which had nearly proved fatal to 
both husband and wife. Major Acland being with 
the advanced guard, and therefore compelled to be 
constantly on the alert, kept a lighted candle in his 
tent throughout the night. It chanced, while the 
major and his wife were asleep, that a favorite New- 
foundland dog in moving round upset the candle, 
which, rolling to the side of the tent, set it on fire. 
Fortunately, an orderly sergeant who was on guard 
close by rushed in art great risk to himself and dragged 
out the first person he caught hold of. This proved 
to be the major himself, who in turn, fearing for his 
wife's safety, ran back in search of her. The latter, 
however, had already made her escape by creeping 
under the walls of the tent into the open air; and the 
faithful sergeant, dashing in once more, again rescued 
his officer, though not before the latter had been 
severely burned about the face and arms. All their 
camp-equipage — everything, in fact, except the clothes 
in which they had slept — was destroyed, but, as Bur- 
goyne remarks, " it altered neither the resolution nor 
cheerfulness of Lady Harriet, and she continued her 
progress, a partaker of the fatigues of the advanced 
corps." Nor w^as it in her wifely devotion alone that 
her humanity was shown. She was not only the idol of 
her husband, but, together with the Baroness Riedesel, 
elicited the admiration of the whole army. She was 
continually making little presents to the officers and 



The Biirgoyne Ballads. 307 

privates of her husband's corps whenever she had any- 
thing among her stores that she thought would gratify 
them. In return, she received from them every atten- 
tion which could mitigate the hardships she daily en- 
countered. 

The next call upon her fortitude was of a different 
nature, and more distressing because of longer sus- 
pense. "On the march of September 19th," writes 
General Burgoyne, " the grenadiers being liable to 
action at every step, she had been directed by the 
major to follow the route of the artillery and baggage, 
which was not exposed. At the time the action at 
Freeman's Farm began she found herself near a small, 
uninhabited hut, where she alighted. When it was 
found the action was becoming general and bloody, 
the surgeons of the hospital took possession of the 
same place as the most convenient for the first care of 
the wounded. Thus was this lady within hearing of 
one continued fire of cannon and musketry for four hours 
together, with the presumption, from the post of her 
husband at the head of the grenadiers, that he was in 
the most exposed part of the action. She had three 
female companions — the Baroness Riedesel and the 
wives of two British officers, Major Harnage and 
Lieutenant Reynell — but in the event their presence 
served but little for comfort. Major Harnage was 
soon brought to the surgeons very badly wounded, and 
a little time after came intelligence that Lieutenant 
Reynell was shot dead. Imagination will want no 
helps to figure the state of the whole group." 

In the second battle of Saratoga (October 7th) 
Major Acland commanded the grenadiers, who, after 
maintaining their ground with the greatest and 
most persistent valor, were finally forced to retreat, 
leaving the eminence on which they had been 



308 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

stationed " a scene," in the language of Wilkinson, 
" of complicated horror and exultation." In the 
square space of twelve yards of ground eighteen grena- 
diers lay in the agonies of death, while three officers 
were propped up against stumps of trees, two of them 
mortally wounded and almost speechless. While pur- 
suing the flying grenadiers Wilkinson heard a feeble 
voice exclaim, " Protect me, sir, against that boy." 
Turning his eyes, he saw a lad taking deliberate aim 
at a wounded British officer, whom he at once knew to 
be Major Acland. Wilkinson dismounted, and, taking 
him by the hand, expressed the hope that he was not 
badly wounded. " Not badly," replied the gallant 
officer, " but very inconveniently, as I am shot through 
both legs. Will you, sir, have the goodness to have 
me conveyed to your camp ?" Wilkinson at once 
directed his orderly to alight, and, lifting the wounded 
man into the vacant seat, had him conveyed to head- 
quarters. 

During the battle Lady Harriet was stationed in a 
tent on the river bank about a mile to the left of the 
scene of action, in full hearing of the roar of the artil- 
lery and surrounded by the wounded that from time 
to time were brought in, and whose dying groans were 
not calculated to diminish the agony of her suspense. 
" My Lady Acland," writes the Baroness Riedesel in 
alluding to events at this particular time, " occupied a 
tent not far from our house. In this she slept, but 
during the day was in the camp. Suddenly one came 
to tell her that her husband was mortally wounded 
and had been taken prisoner. We comforted her by 
saying that it was only a slight wound ; but as no one 
could nurse him as well as herself, we counselled her 
to go at once to him, to do which she certainly could 
obtain permission. She loved him very much, although 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 309 

he was a plain, rough man. He was an excellent offi- 
cer, and she the most lovely {allerliebste) of all 
women. I spent the night in this manner, at one 
time comforting her, and at another looking after my 
children, whom I had put to bed." " You can natu- 
rally conceive," writes Lieutenant Aubrey at this time, 
" what were the feelings of Lady Harriet — having 
every apprehension not only for her husband, but for 
her brother* — who, after hearing the whole of the 
action, at last received the shock of her individual 
misfortune, mixed with the general calamity of the de- 
feat." 

The day after the battle was passed by Lady Harriet 
and her companions, the Baroness Riedesel and the 
wives of the other officers, among the wounded and 
dying, since not a tent or a shed was standing except 
what belonged to the hospital. Her suspense, more- 
over, was rendered the greater from the fact that no 
tidings had been received from her husband since the 
first announcement of his capture. Her unhappiness 
would have been increased had she known that the 
British had that very day refused a flag under cover of 
which General Wilkinson, with his usual gallantry tow- 
ard the fair sex, attempted at every part of the line to 
convey a letter to her from her husband, then in Gates's 
camp. 

Meanwhile, Burgoyne, having scrupulously fulfilled 
the dying wish of his loved companion-in-arms, the 

* Hon. Stephen Digby Strangways — the brother of 
Lady Acland mentioned in the text — was a captain in 
the Twenty-fourth Regiment of foot, and upon the 
promotion of Captain William Agnew to the majority 
of the regiment (July 14th, 1777) became its senior 
captain. 



310 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

chivalric Fraser, began his retreat on the evening of the 
8th in the midst of a pouring rain, and two hours before 
daybreak of the 9th arrived at Dovegat, where he halted. 
During the halt at Dovegat* there occurred one of 
those incidents which relieve with fairer lights and 
softer tints the gloomy picture of war. The circum- 
stances which led to this incident are thus given by the 
Baroness Riedesel : " During this halt it rained in tor- 
rents. My Lady Acland had her tent set up. I ad- 
vised her once more to betake herself to her husband, 
as she could be so useful to him in his present situation. 
Finally, she yielded to my solicitations, and sent a mes- 
sage to General Burgoyne, through his adjutant, my 
Lord Patterson [Petersham], begging permission to 
leave the camp ; I told her she should insist on it ; 
which she did, and finally obtained his consent. . . . 
I saw her again afterward in Albany, at which time 
her husband was almost entirely recovered, and both 
thanked me heartily for my advice." This case of pri- 
vate distress, if we may believe Aubrey, greatly increased 
the cares and anxieties with which Burgoyne was at 
this time surrounded. Regarding, however, the man- 
ner in which that general received Lady Acland's 
request no doubt can be entertained. "When the 
army," he writes, " was on the point of moving after 

* Within the last year ( 1 893), this " Dovegat House " 
has been torn down ; almost the last existing land- 
mark of " Burgoyne's Campaign." It is very sad to 
think that then is not enough patriotism among the 
American people to prevent such an act of vandalism ; 
but so it goes ! Indeed it is shameful that New York 
State should not have prevented this by buying it, 
even if the State should have had to surround it with 
a wall of glass ! 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 311 

the halt described, I received a message from Lady 
Harriet submitting to my decision a proposal (and ex- 
pressing an earnest solicitude to execute it if not inter- 
fering with my designs) of passing to the camp of the 
enemy and requesting General Gates's ^permission to 
attend her husband. Though I was ready to believe 
(for I had experienced) that patience and fortitude in 
a supreme degree were to be found, as well as every 
other virtue, under the most tender forms, I was aston- 
ished at this proposal. After so long an agitation of 
spirits, exhausted not only by want of rest, but abso- 
lutely by want of food, drenched in rains for twelve 
hours together, that a woman should be capable of 
such an undertaking as delivering herself to the enemy, 
probably in the night and uncertain of what hands she 
might first fall into, appeared an effort above human 
nature. The assistance I was enabled to give was 
small indeed. I had not even a cup of wine to offer 
her, but I was told she had found from some kind and 
fortunate hand a little rum and dirty water. All I 
could furnish to her was an open boat and a few lines, 
written upon dirty wet paper, to General Gates, recom- 
mending her to his protection. 

" Let such," continues Burgoyne, " as are affected by 
these circumstances of alarm, hardship, and danger 
recollect that the subject of them was a woman — of 
the most tender and delicate form, of the gentlest man- 
ners, habituated to all the soft elegancies and refined 
enjoyments that attend high birth and fortune, and far 
advanced in a state in which the tender cares always due 
to the sex become indispensably necessary. Her mind 
alone was formed for such trials." 

The letter given her by Burgoyne, and now among 
the "Gates Papers" in the New York Historical So- 
ciety, reads as follows : 



313 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

" Sir : Lady Harriet Acland, a lady of the first dis- 
tinction of family rank and personal virtues, is under 
such concern on account of Major Acland, her hus- 
band, wounded and a prisoner in your hands, that I 
cannot refuse her request to commit her to your pro- 
tection. Whatever general impropriety there may be 
in persons of my situation and yours to solicit favors, 
I cannot see the uncommon perseverance in every 
female grace and exaltation of character of this lady, 
and her very hard fortune, without testifying that your 
attentions to her will lay me under obligation. 
" I am, sir, your obedient servant, 

"J. Burgoyne." 

As an additional protection, another letter was also 
furnished by Burgoyne's deputy adjutant-general, Rob- 
ert Kingston. This letter — likewise preserved among 
the " Gates Papers" — was written in the open air, in 
the midst of a pouring rain, as is evident from the 
stains of the water-splashes with which the paper is 
thickly sprinkled, and is as follows : 

" October 9th, 1777. 

"The Rev^ Mr. Brudenel, chaplain to the staff, ac- 
companies Lady Harriet Acland as a protection till 
she arrives at M' Gen^ Gates's quarters. 

" His Excellency, Lieut.-Gen^ Burgoyne, makes no 
doubt he will be treated with every regard due to his 
character, and allowed to return the first convenient 
opportunity. 

" R^ Kingston, D. Adf-GenK 
•' r^ Mr Genl Gates." 

In the midst of a driving autumnal storm, and with 
nothing but a little spirits and water, obtained from the 
wife of a soldier, to sustain her. Lady Harriet set out 
at dusk in an open boat for the American camp. She 



TTie Bnrgoyne Ballads. 313 

was accompanied by Rev. Edward Brudenel, by Han- 
nah Degraw, her waiting-maid, and by her husband's 
valet, who had been wounded in the shoulder while 
searching for his master upon the battlefield. Another 
of her companions was Mr. George Williams, a young 
gentleman from Newfoundland, who in after years be- 
came a colonel in the army and the first member 
of Parliament for Ashton-under-Lyne. He survived 
until December, 1850 — the very last, in all probability, 
of Burgoyne's army. At ten o'clock they reached the 
American advanced guard, under the command of 
Major Henry Dearborn. Lady Harriet herself hailed 
the sentinel, and as soon as the guard, apprehensive of 
treachery, had very properly communicated with Major 
Dearborn, the bateau was allowed to land. This delay 
was only momentary, and not "seven or eight dark 
and cold hours," as stated by Burgoyne in his " State 
of the Expedition." Upon landing, the party, carry- 
ing with them their bedding and other necessaries, 
were immediately guided to the log cabin of Dearborn, 
who had been ordered to detain the flag until morning, 
the night being exceedingly dark and the quality of 
the lady unknown. Major Dearborn gallantly gave 
up his room to his fair guest, a fire was kindled, a cup 
of hot tea provided, and as soon as Lady Harriet had 
made herself known her mind was relieved of its anx- 
iety by the assurance of her husband's safety. " I vis- 
ited," says Adjutant-General Wilkinson, " the guard 
before sunrise. Lady Acland's boat had put off, and 
was floating down the stream to our camp, where Gen- 
eral Gates, whose gallantry will not be denied, stood 
ready to receive her with all the tenderness and respect 
to which her rank and condition gave her a claim. 
Indeed, the feminine figure, the benign aspect, and 
polished manners of this charming woman were alone 



314 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

sufficient to attract the sympathy of the most obdu- 
rate ; but if another motive could have been want- 
ing to inspire respect, it was furnished by the peculiar 
circumstances of Lady Harriet, then in that most deli- 
cate situation which cannot fail to interest the solicitude 
of every being possessing the form and feelings of a 
man. It was therefore the foulest injustice to brand 
an American officer [Major Dearborn] with the failure 
of courtesy where it was so highly merited." 

But while General Gates was disposed to, and did, 
accord to Lady Harriet a most courteous and hearty 
welcome, both for her own sake and the amenities of 
military etiquette, he was not willing that, as between 
himself and the British commander, these courtesies 
should be all on one side. Justly indignant at the in- 
excusable conduct of Burgoyne during his retreat, he 
sent him the following polite yet caustic reply to the 
letter brought by Lady Harriet : 

" Saratoga, October 12th, 1777. 

" Sir : I had the honor to receive Your Excellency's 
letter by Lady Acland. The respect due to her lady- 
ship's rank, the tenderness due to her person and sex, 
were alone sufficient recommendations to entitle her to 
my protection ; and, considering my preceding con- 
duct with respect to those of your army whom the 
fortune of war has placed in my hands, I am surprised 
Your Excellency should think that I could consider 
the greatest attention to Lady Acland in the light of 
an obligation. 

"The cruelties which marked the retreat of your 
army in burning the gentlemen's and farmers' houses 
as it passed along is almost, among civilized nations, 
without precedent : they should not endeavor to ruin 
those they could not conquer ; their conduct betrays 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 315 

more of the vindictive malice of the monk than the 
generosity of the soldier. 

"Your friend, Sir Francis Gierke, by the imforma- 
tion of Dr. Potts, the director-general of my hospital, 
languishes under a very dangerous wound ; every sort of 
tenderness and attention is paid to him, as well as to 
all the wounded who have fallen into my hands, and 
the hospital which you were necessitated to leave to 
my mercy. . . . 

" I am, sir, etc., 

" Horatio Gates. 

" General Burgoyne." 

Lady Harriet tarried a few days in the American 
camp, during which time " she was treated by General 
Gates," writes Dr. Thacher, " with the tenderness of a 
parent ;" and then, under the escort of that general, she 
rejoined her husband in Albany, whither he had been 
conveyed the day after the action of the 7th. In a 
letter written at this time to his wife General Gates 
thus speaks of his distinguished prisoners and guests : 
" I hope Lady Acland will be here when you arrive. 
She is the most amiable, delicate piece of quality you 
ever beheld. Her husband is one of the prettiest 
fellows I have seen — learned, sensible and an English, 
man to all intents and purposes ; has been a most con- 
founded Tory, but I hope to make him as good a 
Whig as myself before we separate." 

After remaining in Albany until her husband's 
wounds were healed, Lady Harriet accompanied him 
to New York ; and while in that city on his parole, 
before returning to England, the major reciprocated 
the kindness shown to his wife by doing all in his 
power to mitigate the sufferings of the American 
prisoners. 



316 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

Hitherto, Lady Harriet's life, after her return to 
England, has been little known, and that little very 
incorrectly stated. It has been published as veracious 
history that shortly after the arrival of her husband and 
herself in England the former became involved in an 
altercation with a Lieutenant Lloyd, a brother-officer, 
in which he defended the Americans against the as- 
persion of cowardice ; that a duel followed, which 
resulted in the death of Major Acland, who fell at the 
first fire ; and that Lady Harriet thereupon became 
insane, remained so for two years, and finally married 
Chaplain Brudenel. Wilkinson appears to have 
first given currency to this story, and he has since 
been followed by Mrs. Ellet, Mr. Lossing, Fonblanque 
in his " Life of Burgoyne," myself in the " Campaign of 
Burgoyne," and, in fact, by all who have written on 
this subject. Even Miss Warburton, in a letter to 
her nephew, the late Sir John Burgoyne (Fonblanque, 
p. 301), relates substantially the same story, varying 
the narrative, however, by stating that the duel was 
fought with swords and that Acland, in "making a 
pass at his adversary, slipped on a pebble, struck his 
temple upon it in falling, and instantly expired." 

Being desirous of ascertaining what the truth really 
was, I recently wrote to Sir Thomas Dyke Acland, of 
Exeter, England,, whose father was an own nephew of 
Major Acland, asking what were the real facts of the 
case. He with great courtesy replied at once, stating 
that all the generally received statements regarding 
his aunt's and uncle's last days were without the least 
foundation ; that Major Acland died in his bed of a 
cold shortly after his return to England ; and, further, 
that Lady Harriet remained a widow until her death, 
at Tetton, on July 21st, 18 15, In corroboration 
of this latter statement. Sir Thomas Acland enclosed 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 317 

rae a copy of the burial-register of the parish where 
Lady Harriet Hes, in which she is called " The Right 
Hon. Lady Harriet Acland, widow." 

In person Lady Harriet was highly graceful and 
delicate ; her manners were elegantly feminine, her 
outward personal charms being in harmony with those 
of her mind.* While wrapped up in the care of her 
children, hers was not a selfish devotion which would 
shut out all sympathy for others and forbid appreciation 
of those with whom she had been united in ties of in- 
terest and affection, whether in high or low station. 
There is yet standing in a quaint little churchyard in 
Beckenham, Kent, with a solitary yew tree watching 
over it like a faithful sentinel, a moss-grown slab bear- 
ing this inscription : " To the memory of Hannah 
Degraw,born at New York i8th May, 1742. Erected 
by Lady Acland in grateful remembrance of thirty-six 
years' services." 

On Lady Harriet's return to England she was, for a 
time, the cynosure of all eyes. Mrs. Perez Newton 
commemorated her sufferings in a touching poem ; 
and before she left New York a portrait of her lady- 
ship, standing in a boat with a white handkerchief in 
her hand, as a flag of truce, was exhibited at the Royal 
Academy, London. An engraving from this picture 
was extensively circulated in Europe and America ; 
and long after the incident to which it gave rise had 
faded from public remembrance, she herself continued 

* The picture of Lady Acland, one of the alio rilievos 
in the Saratoga monument, is a correct likeness of that 
lady, having been taken from a photograph of a paint- 
ing of her by Sir Joshua Reynolds. This photograph 
was taken and very kindly sent me by the late Lord 
Carnarvon, a grandnephew of Lady Acland. 



318 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

to [be regarded with a respect and tenderness rarely 
accorded even to one of her sex. But to her the 
scenes through which she had passed were ever vivid ; 
and, as the widow of General Montgomery — who for 
forty years had remained faithful to the memory of 
her " soldier," as she always called him — swooned away 
as the steamboat passed her mansion on the North 
River bearing the body of her husband to its final 
resting-place beneath St. Paul's, so Lady Harriet 
Acland, though surviving her " soldier" thirty-seven 
years, could never hear an allusion to him without 
tears. "JAttached to her husband as she was," writes 
Miss Warburton, " having suffered so much for his sake, 
and having, as she supposed, brought him home to 
safety, and a life of future happiness, to have all this 
cheering prospect dashed by his death was, one would 
have thought, more than human nature could support 
or sustain. But she had a mind superior to every trial, 
and even this, her severest affliction, she bore up 
under with resignation and fortitude. I saw her again 
many years afterward, when her sorrows had been 
somewhat tempered by time. She was still handsome, 
but her bloom and vivacity were gone. I placed 
myself where I could unobserved contemplate the 
change she had undergone since I had first seen 
her. Her countenance was mild and placid, but there 
was a look of tender melancholy mingled with resig- 
nation that made her the most interesting object I had 
ever beheld." 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 319 



APPENDIX ¥1. 

LAST DAYS OF JONES, THE LOVER OF 
JANE McCREA. 

A Scrap of Unwritten History. 

[This story is told by Julia C. Smalley in the Catholic Worldiox December, 

1882.] 

In the course of an evening conversation with the 
cheerful circle in which our easy-chair is permitted 
for the present to fill the privileged place accorded 
to its invalid occupant, we fell to relating incidents 
connected with the early history of our republic. 
An aged member of that circle sat diligently plying 
her knitting needles, a silent Hstener to our chat, 
instead of supplying the share which we knew full 
well she could have drawn from her own knowledge 
of many interesting events of that period, at the time 
of their occurrence or soon after. She was, therefore, 
very warmly urged by the younger part of the com- 
pany to "tell us a story," even though it might prove, 
as she hinted, but a " twice-told tale" to some of her 
listeners. 

It so happened that she had on that day taken up a 
stray number of Lossing's '* Pictorial Field-Book of the 
Revolution," and while glancing drowsily over its pages 
her eye was attracted by his account of the tragical 
death of Jane McCrea, near Fort Edward, on the 
Hudson River, in July, 1777. Having frequently in 
former years visited an aged relative who lived in 
Bennington, Vt., through the war of the Revolu- 
tion, and who was well acquainted with the unfortu- 
nate girl, and with the Mrs. McNeil whom Miss 



320 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

McCrea was visiting at the time of the sad event, she 
had heard the painful story in all its mournful details 
from the lips of that relative, with the shuddering hor- 
ror and tearful sympathy which it would naturally 
awaken in a sensitive young heart. 

At the close of his narration Lossing remarks that 
there were various accounts in the vicinity of Fort 
Edward as to the subsequent fate of Lieutenant Jones 
of the British army, to whom Jane McCrea was 
engaged ; and that he heard, from a lady at Glens 
Falls who was related to the Jones family, that he 
lived with his friends in Canada many years after the 
terrible event — a melancholy and lonely man. 

It is curious to note how some such trivial cause as 
this renewal of her acquaintance with that sad story 
will often impel an old person to rake up the dying 
embers of the past and draw from them living sparks 
which had long been smouldering beneath their dust. 
It was thus with our serene old friend as she closed 
the book that afternoon and settled back in her " old 
arm-chair," musing upon the narrative and recalling 
scenes of her early life which she had not thought 
upon for years. Hence it followed, of course, when 
our evening chat dipped into history, and she was 
urged to bear her part in it, that she should recur 
to the subject of her late reading and revery, and 
to the fact that she knew more of the later life of 
Lieutenant David Jones than was recorded by Los- 
sing. " For," said she, " all the early years of my life, 
with the exception of occasional visits to friends in 
Vermont, were passed on the American shore of the 
St. Lawrence. It was then a wilderness from Sack- 
ett's Harbor to the ' Rapids,' only broken by the 
little village of Ogdensburg, just starting into exist- 
ence, and by small openings made here and there by 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 321 

such hardy pioneers as dared encroach within its for- 
bidding boundaries. 

" Schools there were none up or down the river 
from Ogdensburg, and the children of the ' settlers' 
had no means for instruction, unless taught at home 
or sent across the river to attend schools already estab- 
lished in the older settlements on the Canadian shore. 

" No sooner had my father taken up a large tract of 
land and planted our pleasant home in this wilderness 
— indeed, before we had been there long enough 
to get it reduced to a tolerable state of order we were 
visited by the residents of that shore up and down the 
river, and afterward formed many permanent friend- 
ships with them, among the most highly valued of 
which were members of the Jones family. So it 
befel that when I was old enough to be sent away to 
school I was admitted into one of those families 
more as a household pet than a boarder, and was 
cordially invited to range freely through the whole 
circle. As every separate family was blessed with 
daughters near my own age, I was decidedly ' in 
clover' among them— clover the luxury of which for 
me, who had no sister or young companions at home, 
save the little squaws from a neighboring Indian 
encampment, cannot possibly be conceived by any 
small lassie who lives amid abounding youthful com- 
panionship. I revelled in it. Such parties as were 
given weekly at one and another house ! Such multi- 
tudes of dolls as went with us in every variety of cos- 
tume ; among which my own, large and small, figured, 
copper-colored and in full Indian dress, with hair 
banged according to the most approved aboriginal 
style — which has been adopted by our modern fine 
ladies — and was necessary to the completion of the 
Indian toilet that I took pride in arranging for them 



322 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

in honor of my special pets, the papooses of the wig- 
wams. 

** Among the young girls of the Jones connection 
was one to whom I was particularly attracted, as she 
was to me, by the similarity of our positions. Her 
father lived in a remote district, and her home was 
almost as isolated as my own, while she was with their 
relatives for the same purpose as myself. At the close 
of each term of our school she was, as well as myself, 
carried home to pass the short interval between the 
terms. On one of these occasions she was so urgent in 
her entreaties that I might be permitted to go with 
her for the vacation that my father consented, much to 
my satisfaction, and we set forth in great glee. Our 
journey was very delightful, through a wild and roman- 
tic region, and I received a most cordial welcome from 
her family at its close. 

" The house was more elaborate in style and furni- 
ture than our home so recently founded in the woods. 
A portion of it was built by her grandfather many years 
before, and extensive modern additions had been made 
by her father. Her grandfather died the previous 
year, and his brother, a very venerable old gentleman 
with hair as white as snow, lived in the family. I was 
deeply impressed by the countenance and manner of 
this granduncle of my friend. An expression of un- 
utterable sadness was stamped upon his noble features, 
and a gentle dignity — benign to the verge of pity — 
marked his whole bearing, even to the softened tones 
of his manly voice, especially when addressing the 
voung in the few slowly uttered but impressive words 
which he seldom exceeded when speaking to them. 
He was very fond of his grandniece, and, silent and 
reserved as he was with others, he never tired of listen- 
ing to her sprightly prattle. 



The Burgoyne Ballads, 823 

" As soon as I found a proper occasion I plied her 
with questions as to this interesting relative, whom she 
had never mentioned when telling me about her family. 
She seemed slightly constrained when speaking of him, 
but told me he was a bachelor, and that he met with a 
crushing affliction in his youth, from which he never 
recovered. With all the eager pertinacity natural to 
small daughters of Eve I drew from this reluctant 
witness that her grandfather. Captain Jonathan Jones, 
and this gentleman, his brother — Lieutenant David 
Jones — were officers in Burgoyne's army during the 
first years of the Revolution ; that the lieutenant was 
engaged to a beautiful young lady, whose brother was 
a stanch supporter of the American cause and opposed 
to her union with the Tory officer, and that she was 
killed and scalped by the Indians while going with a 
friend and escort to meet that officer in the British 
camp at Sandy Hill, not long before the surrender of 
Burgoyne. He was so crushed by the terrible blow, 
and disgusted with the apathy of Burgoyne in refusing 
to punish the miscreant who brought her scalp to the 
camp as a trophy, claiming the bounty offered for such 
prizes by the British commanders, that he and his 
brother asked for a discharge and were refused, when 
they deserted — he having first rescued the precious 
relic of his beloved from the savages — and retired to 
this Canadian wilderness, which he had never been 
known to leave except upon one mysterious occasion 
many years before. 

" She did not know the name of the lady so long 
and faithfully mourned, but when I asked her if this 
tragedy did not occur near Fort Edward, on the Hud- 
son, she remembered to have heard that place men- 
tioned in connection with it. She said they were all 
forbidden to speak in his presence of American affairs 



324 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

or history, but she had once persuaded him to let her 
see the mournful relic so precious to him. She 
described the hair as the most beautiful she had ever 
seen, light auburn in color, soft and glossy as silk, per- 
fectly even, and a yard and a quarter in length. 

" ' Well, my dear A ,' said I, * it so happens that 

I know more about this sad affair than even yourself, 
who have always lived in the house with him. When 
my father and mother used to visit his oldest sister in 
Bennington, Vt, they took me with them at her 
special request ; for, being the only daughter of her 
favorite brother, she always treated me with more 
tender affection than she showed toward her other 
nieces. Her house, which she had long known and 
occupied, was one where the officers quartered at the 
time of the battle of Bennington, and I remember the 
speechless awe with which I was wont to con over and 
spell out the names of those officers, recorded by them- 
selves, on the eve of the battle, upon a pane of glass in 
the window with the diamond in a ring belonging to 
one of their number, who was killed in the conflict of 
the next day. 

" * My aunt's memory was a storehouse of tales of 
those times, and I never tired of listening to them. 
No sooner was one finished than I teased for another, 
until I am sure the patience of the good dame must 
have been sorely tried. She knew this young lady, 
whose name was Jane McCrea, and also Mrs. McNeil, 
the Tory friend whom Miss McCrea was visiting at the 
time of their capture by the Indians. I little thought 
when I cried over the doleful story that the lover was 
still living, much less that I should ever see him !' 

" A did not dare repeat to her venerable relative 

what I had told her, but she ventured to beg.that I 
might be allowed to see the beautiful hair of his lost 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 325 

love. He was deaf to her entreaties, assuring her that 
she was the only one who had or would see it while he 
lived, and that he wished to have it buried with him 
when he died. 

** After our return to school I drew from her some 
facts in relation to the mysterious journey she had men- 
tioned his having once taken. ' I do not know much 
about it,' she said. ' I heard it from an old servant- 
woman of the family, who told me that many years 
before I was born a stranger came there one evening, 
who appeared to be a gentleman's valet. He brought 
a fine-looking, intelligent young boy with him, and 
inquired for my grandfather. Captain Jonathan Jones.' 

" The substance of my friend's account was that, 
after an interview of some length with her grandfather, 
his brother, the lieutenant, was called in, and the three 
were together in the library during most of the night, 
discussing some very interesting matter connected with 
the boy. The butler had been ordered to prepare re- 
freshments in the dining-room, and Robert, one of the 
waiter-boys — an urchin gifted with a larger amount of 
mischief and curiosity than his small frame could pos- 
sibly enclose, insomuch that they were continually over- 
flowing, to the annoyance of the whole household — was 
directed to remain within call to serve them when re- 
quired. It was not in the nature of this valet that he 
should remain idle at his post during the long hours 
of the night, and his faculties were too much on the 
alert as to the subject engaging his superiors to yield 
to drowsiness ; so, in perfect submission to his ruling 
instincts, he plied the keyhole diligently for such infor- 
mation as it might convey to his ear when the parties 
became so excited as to raise their voices above the 
low tone to which most of their conversation was con- 
fined. He gathered from these snatches that Captain 



326 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

Jones was urgently entreated to perform some service 
for the boy which he was reluctant to undertake. He 
heard him exclaim vehemently : * I will not be persuaded 
to receive under my roof the son of that detestable 
traitor, whose treason, although to an unrighteous 
cause, caused my dearest friend, one of the bravest and 
most noble officers in his Majesty's service, to be hung 
like a dog by the vile rebels. I should be constantly 
haunted with the thought that I was nurturing a viper 
to sting me when occasion offered.' His brother 
David said something in reply, of which Robert heard 
only enough to infer that there was a retired officer of 
the American army across the river who might be per- 
suaded to do what was desired. ' Very well,' said the 
captain ; ' you can undertake the task, if you see fit, but 
I have no belief that you will gain the consent of one 
who loathes the father so bitterly to take charge of the 
son. Still, as he is a bachelor, he would escape the 
risk of exposing a family to injurious consequences, 
and as sufficient provision will be made for the support 
and education of the boy, there will be no pecuniary 
risk ; it will also, no doubt, be easier, as you say, to 
keep the secret of his birth in the States than there in 
the vicinity of his father's retreat. You may perhaps 
succeed, and I wish no harm may come of it if you do.' 

" Robert heard no more, and soon after these remarks 
the confab broke up, and he was called to serve the 
refreshments in the library. 

" The lieutenant departed with the boy and his at- 
tendant the next day. He was absent some days, and 
nothing further was known as to his journey, its object 
and result, than was gathered from Robert's story, 
which was soon circulated through the neighborhood. 
It formed the basis of many conjectures and discus- 
sions among the country people and servants. These 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 327 

were renewed with increased excitement when, after 
some months, it was discovered that a stone cottage in 
the English style had been built in the midst of a 
dense wilderness some miles back from a Canadian 
village situated on the bank of the St. Lawrence, and 
was occupied by an old man, whose sole attendant was 
a servant, who visited that village occasionally for sup- 
plies, but utterly refused to answer the questions of the 
villagers or give any information as to his master's 
name or history. 

" I afterward learned from other sources the further 
particulars that at the period to which this account of 
my young friend referred a settlement was rapidly 
forming on the American shore opposite to this Ca- 
nadian village, and that the fact that a leading man in 
the newly rising community, a bachelor and retired 
officer of the American Revolution, had adopted a boy 
whose origin was unknown, but who bore the name of 
a traitor — most odious to all American people — who was 
evidently not dependent upon his patron for anything 
but care and direction, set rumor 'with its hundred 
tongues' busy connecting the youth with the mysteri- 
ous recluse of the 'forest lodge' — as the place was 
named by the country people — and set all eyes to 
watching him and his movements for any circumstance 
that might confirm these suspicions. Hence when it 
became known that the boy sometimes crossed the river 
and disappeared with an Indian hunter in the woods, 
under pretence of hunting the game which abounded 
there, remaining upon each occasion for some days, it 
was taken as 'confirmation strong as Holy Writ' of the 
prevailing conjectures, and he was generally regarded 
with increased aversion. Despite these unfavorable 
influences, however, he lived and flourished, became 
an enterprising, respectable citizen, and a distinguished 



328 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

officer in the volunteer service during the War of 1812, 
his zeal and valor in the cause winning for him the 
public respect and esteem so long unjustly withheld. 
He married a niece of his benefactor, and they were 
united in their devotion to the interests and comfort 
of her uncle in his old age, inheriting a large portion 
of his estate at his death, 

" The mystery surrounding the recluse, the problem 
of his suspected identity with the notorious American 
traitor, and his possible relationship with the boy in 
question were never solved. 

" It continued for many years to be the subject of 
evening gossip by rural firesides in that region, and 
strange stories were told by Indian and white hunters 
and trappers of the startling things they had seen and 
heard in the vicinity of the lonely cottage — long since 
fallen into decay — both during the occupancy of its 
owner and after his disappearance. Whether he died 
there, or left for some far-off country before his death, 
was never known." 



APPENDIX VII. 



SKETCH OF GENERAL JOHN WATTS DE 

PEYSTER. 

General J. Watts de Peyster, the author of the 
poems on Oriskany and Saratoga, was born at No. 3 
Broadway, in the city of New York, March 9th, 1821. 
He is the descendant, in direct line, in the seventh 
generation, of de Peysters who resided in, and in the 
sixth of those born in, the First Ward of that city ; 
and through connections by blood and by marriage, his 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 329 

people filled the highest and most important offices 
under the Dutch and English or British rule. His 
mother's father, John Watts (2d), was the last Royal 
Recorder of the City and the Founder and Endower of 
the Leake and Watts Orphan House, to whom the 
general erected, in 1892, a bronze statue in Trinity 
Churchyard, which has been pronounced one of the 
finest in the country and was considered such an 
admirable specimen of art, that a duplicate was selected 
and sent to the Centennial Exposition at Chicago. His 
father, Frederic de Peyster, stood in the highest rank 
in literature, philanthropy, and usefulness in New York, 
and it was said of him in published obituaries : " He 
has probably been connected as an active officer with 
more social, literary and benevolent societies than any 
other New Yorker who ever lived." His historical 
and biographical publications were numerous and 
valuable, and to sum up, " to him might justly be ap- 
plied the expressive lines of Tennyson as to what 
constitutes a gentleman. 

His son, the subject of this sketch, inherited the 
literary tastes and industry of his family. He com- 
menced to write for the public press at eleven, and 
since that time he has continued to publish works in 
every literary branch, year by year, ever since he came 
of age. 

To a very great extent a firm believer in absolute pre- 
destination, he claims that, as St. Paul remarks, " what 
hast thou that thou didst not receive," and as any talent 
and the power of applying it came from God, from 
Him came the reward in whatever form conferred. 
Nevertheless, the general's labors have not been with- 
out recognition. 

Although only an officer of Militia, or, as they 
were afterward styled, " Military Forces of the State 



330 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

of New York," now National Guard, his every pro- 
motion was made especially for "meritorious conduct" 
or " important services," and after the rebeUion he v^ras 
brevetted Major-General State of New York for 
" meritorious services" by " Special Act," or Concurrent 
Resolution, New York State Legislature, April, 1866 
[first and only general officer receiving such an honor 
(the highest) from State of New York, and the only 
officer thus brevetted (Major-General) in the United 
States]. He represented the State as Military Agent 
for observation abroad, endorsed in the highest terms 
by the United States Executive, President Fillmore, 
and Government Secretaries of State and of War. His 
Reports on Tactics, Uniform, Organization, Arms, 
and Armament — Arms and Ordnance — were acknowl- 
edged to contain " most valuable suggestions" by 
Jefferson Davis, then Secretary of War, and his collec- 
tion of Foreign Arms was commended at Washing- 
ton, whither they were sent, by request, for inspection. 
His suggestion for the adoption of the twelve-pounder 
Napoleon-gun several years before its approval by the 
United States Army Board, his ideas of Uniform and 
designation of rank were adopted or imitated by the 
rebel military authorities, and he was one of the first 
to promote the institution of the Municipal Police, 
and the substitution for the then existing Volunteer 
Fire Department of a Paid Organization, with steam fire 
engines and a fire escape both economical and effec- 
tive. In recognition of his services as Military Agent 
of the State of New York in Europe he received an 
elegant gold medal from Hon. Washington Hunt, 
Governor of the State of New York, and, by a Special 
Order, another gold medal was conferred under the 
same Executive "for zeal, devotion, and meritorious 
service," and his appointment as Brigadier-General 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 331 

was the first made by any governor independently 
and, as stated therein, "for important services." 

His works on Military History and Criticism have 
received the highest endorsement even to the extent 
of the opinion that his judgment in Strategy and 
Grand Tactics was almost infallible, and his views 
or ideas on practical strategy elicited from General 
Sir Edward Gust, B.A., author of " The Annals of the 
Wars, 1700 to 1 71 5," in eleven volumes, and "Lives 
of the Warriors, XVHth Century," a " Letter Dedi- 
catory," dated March, 1869, of 29 pages. He was also 
the first to demonstrate to the American people the 
vast influence, in a series of works, volumes, and articles, 
upon human progress exercised by the Seven United 
States of Holland, a subject which has latterly been 
presented in a more popular and digested form by 
the late Mr. Campbell in his book "The Puritan in 
Holland, England, and America;" and in a series of 
centennial articles in the New York Times, New 
York Mail, and other prominent papers he presented 
the operations of the Revolutionary War from a point 
of view based on original authorities, seldom if 
never consulted, demonstrating errors that should 
never have occurred and which have become strength- 
ened by repetition. 

For a life of the Swedish Field Marshal Torstenson, 
who may be justly claimed to have decided the result 
of the Thirty Years' War, and was pronounced by 
Gustavus Adolphus as his pupil fittest to command 
his army, or any army, he received three beautiful 
silver medals from Oscar I., King of Sweden, besides 
being honored with other badges and insignia for sim- 
ilar work subsequently done in military, historical, and 
biographical essays. 

Many years ago he was invested with the degree of 



332 The Bxivgoyne Ballads. 

LL.D., subsequently with that of Master of Arts, Co- 
lumbia College, and recently with that of Litt.D., 
Doctor of Letters or Literature (the last a degree 
conveying highest collegiate distinction, superior to 
LL.D.), Franklin and Marshall College, corner-stone 
laid by Benjamin Franklin, 1787; reorganized 1853), 
Lancaster, Pa., 1892. He is also an honorary member 
of historical societies too numerous to mention ; and, 
indeed, since this sketch is in type he has received no- 
tice of his having been elected Honorary Fellow of the 
Society of Science, Letters, and Art, of London. 

Invidious remarks having been made in regard to 
General De Peyster not going into the field in 1861- 
65, the all-sufficient answer is that a soldier to be of 
any value in active service requires sound health and 
certainly strong digestion. The famous General Wolfe 
wrote that he chiefly valued his promotion as general 
because that rank enabled him to command comforts 
without which it was impossible in his state of health 
to perform his duties efficiently. This remark was 
made at a time when even field officers enjoyed advan- 
tages now beyond the conceded rights in the field of 
any but the highest in command. 

Doctors of the highest ability advised him that if he 
did take the field there was only one chance out of ten 
of his being able to remain there or of surviving the 
necessary acclimatization to perform any effectual ser- 
vice. Nevertheless, he did offer to go more than once, 
and to furnish admirable troops, or serve in any capacity 
in which his health would justify the appointment " due 
to acknowledged ability." He was at one time consid- 
ered for chief of the personal staff" which President 
Lincoln talked of organizing, until persuaded not to 
do so for reasons best known to those who combated 
the idea. 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 333 

At the age of eighteen he was seized suddenly with 
such a peculiar and severe affection of the heart that it 
was deemed worthy of record in permanent medical 
reports. The effects of this continued for years. When 
it ceased to trouble him persistently it was followed 
by hemorrhages, which drained his life. At one period 
this continued for six years continuously, and returned 
from time to time without notice. It did not preclude 
at times extraordinary temporary activity, if rest, relief, 
and remedies were possible upon the first symptoms 
of exhaustion or of the return of heart trouble. It is 
said that "whoever excuses himself accuses himself," 
but that man is the worst of fools who is aware of any 
insuperable obstacle and then undertakes to act against 
knowledge, when failure will be attributed by mean- 
ness or injustice to the worst motives or to any but 
the true cause. 

His works on military subjects — on the Militia and 
on the Fire Departments of Europe — are masses of 
information, whose only fault is concentration. They 
would make a dozen books, and for this reason have 
perhaps been more profitable to the fame of those who 
have subsequently turned them over than to that of 
the original compiler and author, who, at much per- 
sonal expense of time and money, collected them 
during a visit to Europe. They still offer abundant 
resources for the improvement of our institutions. 

Nor, have General de Peyster's writings been con- 
fined solely to works of a military character. Besides 
biographies of our leading generals, representatives 
abroad, and other celebrities, he has written and pub- 
lished a number of others of a high literary character, 
which have met the approbation of the severest critics 
and the praise of one of the best judges, the lamented 
Bryant ; likewise an historical drama, " Bothwell," the 



334 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

successful lover and third husband of Mary Queen of 
Scots, partly in blank verse and partly in prose, which 
received the following stamp of excellence from Le 
Livre, the highest literary tribunal : " Magnificent to 
read although impossible to act" — impossible to act 
because, as remarked by an experienced stage manager, 
it required too many first-class actors to fill the lead- 
ing roles and too expensive or perhaps too difficult 
scenery to produce and manage. In fact, the list of 
the general's publications, books, pamphlets, and con- 
tributions to periodicals fill eleven pages of one vol- 
ume of the " Bibliography of the American Historical 
Association" besides a supplementary list in the suc- 
ceeding volume, and the enumeration is by no means 
complete. 

It only remains, in order to fill out and complete 
this picture, to speak of its subject as a man. In 
person, General de Peyster is erect in carriage, and 
bears so much the stamp of a military personage, that 
a stranger, observing him, would put him down at 
once as belonging to that profession. In character, 
notwithstanding his ill-health and his being almost 
continuously racked with pain, he is eminently genial 
and possessed of so much bonhommie as to make him a 
most charming companion, and the writer recalls 
many delightful hours spent with him at his classic 
country-seat at Tivoli, N. Y., which overlooks, 
so to speak, the scene of Sir Henry Clinton's 
expedition against ^sopus during the Revolution. 
He possesses, moreover, most endearing and affec- 
tionate traits, and no one is more charitable to the 
faults of others than himself. Nor are these charac- 
teristics confined solely to the human family. His 
considerate treatment of all dumb animals is remark- 
able, and a tombstone in his grounds, which com- 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 335 

memorates an affectionate dog, serves also both to 
mark the grave and the kindness of heart which 
prompted its erection."^ 

In fine, to apply to him the tribute which dear old 
Horace gave to his friend Fuscus : 

" Integer vitse scelerisque purus 
Non eget mauvis jaculis, neque arcu." 



APPENDIX YIII. 



Rev. Thomas Allen, the " Parson" who forms the 
subject of the ballad on the " Catamount Tavern," was 
born at Northampton, Mass., January 7th, 1743, and 
graduated from Harvard College in 1762, being ranked 
among the first classical scholars of his time. It will 
thus occur to the reader that the " Parson," as he is 
called in tradition, in a jocular manner, is hardly in 
keeping with his real character. Rev. Mr. Allen studied 
theology under Rev. Mr. Hooker, of Northampton, 
and was ordained April i8th, 1764, as the first minis- 
ter of Pittsfield, Berkshire County, Mass., which was 
named in honor of William Pitt, and which was then 
a frontier town, in which a garrison had been kept 
during the French War. The Indian name was Pon- 
toosuc. At the time of Mr. Allen's settlement Pitts- 

* The writer likewise appreciates fully this particular 
trait in General de Peyster's character, since he, also, 
has placed a marble slab over the remains of a dog 
which during life was more faithful to him than many 
of his so-called " friends." 



336 Ihe Burgoyne Ballads. 

field contained but six houses not built of logs. He 
lived to see it a wealthy and beautiful town, with six 
thousand inhabitants. 

In the Revolutionary struggle he was an ardent sup- 
porter of the colonies, and twice went out as a volun- 
teer chaplain. From October 3d until January 23d, 
1776, he was with the army at White Plains, and in 
June and July, i yjj, at Ticonderoga. After the retreat 
of the army from that post he returned home. Upon 
the approach of the British, under Colonel Baum, to 
the vicinity of Bennington he marched with the Pitts- 
field volunteers to repel the invasion. Prior to the 
assault of the intrenchments occupied by the refugees, 
he advanced, and in a voice w^hich they distinctly heard 
called upon them to surrender, promising good treat- 
ment ; but being fired upon, he rejoined the militia, 
and was among the foremost of those who entered the 
breastworks ; and there is no question but that his ex- 
ertions and example contributed materially to the 
triumph of August i6th, which so greatly checked 
Burgoyne's progress and led to the capture of that 
general. Undoubtedly, also, his experiences in the 
service before this, at the battle of White Plains, etc., 
gave him valuable experience as a soldier of the church 
militant, and thus aided him in his directions to the 
raw levies in the battle. After the action he secured 
the horse of a Brunswick surgeon, which carried a pair 
of panniers filled with bottles of wine. The wine he 
administered to the wounded and weary ; but two 
large, square, glass-case bottles he carried home as 
trophies of his campaign of four days. Of his after 
life there are many valuable accounts, as it was filled 
with stirring adventures, especially one, when he crossed 
the sea to London to bring home to his family an in- 
fant child of his daughter, who died in that city in 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 337 

1 799. While in London he saw the king, as he passed 
from St. James to the Parliament House, in a coach 
drawn by six cream-colored horses, and on this sight 
recorded the following reflections: ''This is he who 
desolated my country, who ravaged the American 
coasts, annihilated our trade, burned our towns, plun- 
dered our cities, sent forth his Indian allies to scalp 
our wives and children, starved our youth in his 
prison-ships, and caused the expenditure of a hundred 
millions of money and a hundred thousand of precious 
lives. Instead of being the father of his people, he has 
been their destroyer. May God forgive him so great 
guilt. And yet he is the idol of the people, who think 
they cannot live without him." Rev. Mr. Allen died 
Sabbath morning, February nth, 1810, in the forty- 
seventh year of his ministry. (See Allen's " Biograph- 
ical Dictionary" — from which this sketch has been 
taken — for a fuller account.) 



APPENDIX IX. 



THE CATAMOUNT TAVERN.* 
By Charles M. Bliss. 
The "Green Mountain Tavern," the resort of the 
"Green Mountain Boys," is here referred to. In 
what is now the village of Bennington Center — the 
Bennington of Revolutionary fame — it had stood until 
March 30th, 1871, for more than one hundred years, 
a most noted relic of Revolutionary and even of ante- 
Revolutionary days. In fact, events which occurred 
before the Revolution gave it its name and its chief 

* See Frontispiece. 



338 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

title to fame. The land controversy between the set- 
tlers on the New Hampshire Grants and the provincial 
government, but not the people, of New York — a con- 
troversy but for which Vermont would not have 
been, first brought " Landlord Fay's" tavern into 
prominence. Stephen Fay, its proprietor, was himself 
one of the prominent actors in this controversy, as he 
also was in the preparations for the battle of Benning- 
ton. He had five sons in the battle, one of whom 
was killed. It was during the long and bitter land 
controversy that the settlers placed a large stuffed 
catamount, y^/^V concolor, over the swinging sign of the 
inn, with its face set toward New York, in token of their 
defiance of New York authority. Hence the name 
" Catamount Tavern." 

The early settlers of Vermont held title to their 
lands by virtue of grants from New Hampshire, and 
the territory so held was called the New Hampshire 
Grants. By a right perhaps equally good New York 
granted the same lands to others. The crown decided 
in favor of the New Hampshire title, but the contro- 
versy did not stop. The owners of the New York 
grants, having paid for them, demanded of the settlers 
under the New Hampshire grants departure or repay- 
ment. The settlers refused both. They were not 
averse to the jurisdiction of New York ; they were to 
the demands of the New York claimants. The New 
York courts sustained the New York claimants, and 
attempted to eject the settlers from their lands by legal 
process. This was successfully resisted by force. After 
many ineffectual efforts of the court of Albany County 
to enforce its decrees a determined attempt was 
made, July 19th, 1771, to secure the farm of 
James Breakenridge in the town of Bennington, and 
this also failed. The sheriff of the county and the 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 339 

mayor of Albany, with an armed posse of over three 
hundred men, were the aggressive party, but the oppos- 
ing force, with headquarters at the Catamount Tavern, 
and under the lead of Ethan Allen, was too strong for 
them. No shots were fired, however, and in the 
bloodless victory on this farm, to use the words of the 
late Governor Hiland Hall, in his " Early History of 
Vermont," "was born the future State of Vermont." 

The same year James Duane, of New York City, a 
land speculator, and John Kempe, the Attorney-Gen- 
eral of the province, made themselves very obnoxious 
to the settlers. Their agents were roughly handled by 
Robert Cochran, the real owner of some of these lands, 
assisted by Ethan Allen, Remember Baker and a few 
others. Governor Tryon, considering this a serious 
outrage, offered a reward of twenty pounds each for the 
arrest of these men. Allen and Baker and Cochran 
at once issued a counter proclamation, promising a 
reward of fifteen and ten pounds for the arrest of "those 
common disturbers," Duane and Kempe respectively, 
and their delivery " at Landlord Fay's." 

Immediately after the Breakenridge affair, inhabitants 
of the towns west of the Green Mountains organized a 
military body called the "Green Mountain Boys." 
Ethan Allen was their colonel and Seth Warner a 
captain. They were "Minute Men," ready and willing 
to serve literally at a moment's notice in defence of 
their rights. New Hampshire was too far away to aid 
them ; on themselves they must depend. They did 
little actual fighting, however. They had other methods 
of defence. In various ways they harassed the New 
York officials, and also the New York sympathizers 
among the settlers, whom they stigmatized as " York- 
ers." These Green Mountain Boys were always on 
the watch for them, and they were sure to make 



340 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

examples of the officers if they caught them. They 
" chastised them with the twigs of the wilderness," sent 
them beyond their borders, and commanded them 
never to return. One contumacious person, a " York- 
er," they brought to the Catamount Tavern and swung 
up in an arm-chair under Landlord Fay's sign, where 
they kept him for two hours, an object of derision 
to the crowd gathered to see the sport. 

These were the men, an organized body, who cap- 
tured Ticonderoga, May loth, 1775. It was in the 
Catamount Tavern that their leader, Ethan Allen, on 
May 3d, arranged with the Connecticut and Massachu- 
setts men for its capture, the former having brought 
the funds to pay the expenses of the expedition and 
the latter a small force to join it. From here went 
out orders to summon every man to muster for the cap- 
ture. One of the messengers sent from Castleton 
travelled sixty miles on foot in one day through the 
wilderness, from clearing to clearing, on this duty. 

The Catamount Tavern was the headquarters of 
General Stark at the time of the battle of Bennington, 
and the captured British officers were kept here after 
the battle as prisoners of war. Contrary to the popu 
lar belief of to-day and to the general record of his- 
tory. Stark was on the march from Manchester via 
Bennington to join General Schuyler on the Hudson, 
in obedience to the latter's orders. He finally disobey- 
ed those orders, not because of the slight put upon 
him by Congress, but on the representation of the 
Vermont Council of Safety, in session in the Council 
Room at Landlord Fay's. 

This Council of twelve members, one of whom, and 
its secretary, was a son of Landlord Fay, was the pro- 
visional but legitimate government of the new State 
of Vermont, just sprung into being and not yet a 



The Burgoyne Ballads, 341 

twelvemonth oM. This civil authority, composed of 
A^ermont men on the ground, was better informed of 
the plans and movements of Burgoyne than the New 
Hampshire general just arrived. To them he wisely 
listened. His own words, written to the Courant at 
Hartford, Conn., two days after the battle, and printed 
therein October 7th, 1777, make this point clear. He 
says : " After my arrival at that place [Manchester, 
Vt.], I received orders from Major-General Lincoln, 
pursuant to orders from General Schuyler, to march 
my whole brigade to Stillwater and join the main army 
under his command. ... In obedience thereto, I 
marched with my brigade to Bennington, on my way 
to join him, leaving that part of the country almost 
wholly naked to the ravage of the enemy. The Hon- 
orable the Council then sitting at Bennington were 
much against my marching with my brigade, as it 
was raised on their request, they apprehending great 
danger of the enemy's approaching to that place, which 
afterward we found truly to be the case." 

To the failure of Burgoyne to cut off New England, 
then one third of the country, from the rest of the Colo- 
nies, is ascribed the willingness of France to aid the 
American cause openly, and thus to secure the inde- 
pendence of the United States. In achieving this in- 
dependence, the aid of France is now freely acknowl- 
edged throughout our country. That of the State of 
Vermont is also entitled to mention in history ; and 
in the making of the nation, the work of the patriots 
of the Catamount Tavern, founders of a State, coming 
up, as it does, to the measure of Lafayette's love of 
liberty, ranks higher in the moral scale than that of 
the enemies of England at Versailles. 

Ethan Allen lived at Landlord Fay's upon occa- 
sion, and his name appears in one of Captain Fay's 



34:2 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

account books, still extant in Bennington. The first 
legislature of Vermont sat here. Here, in 1 778, David 
Redding was tried as a traitor " for enemical conduct" 
and was hanged. A peculiarity of the trial was that 
only six jurors sat. The Governor and Council there- 
upon ordered a new trial, and thus disappointed the 
excited patriots who had assembled to witness the 
execution. Whereupon Ethan Allen assured them 
that the proceeding was strictly lawful, and that after 
the new trial if Redding were not hung he would " be 
hung himself." 

To designate the spot where the famous tavern 
stood, the pedestal of a monument has been placed in 
position, to be surmounted by a bronze catamount, 
though with his wrinkled visage smoothed, for after 
more than a century the war between the Green 
Mountain Boys and the Yorkers is over. Vermont 
is a result of that war ; the combatants compromised 
their differences ; the fourteen-year-old State was ad- 
mitted to the Union ; the Catamount Tavern, for over 
twenty years a "lively" inn, subsided to the humdrum 
occupation of furnishing entertainment for man and 
beast, coming in large numbers from the less favored 
parts of New England to this no longer turbulent 
land of promise ; peace reigned, and as of old out of 
the strong came forth sweetness. 



APPENDIX X. 



THE CORRECT SPELLING OF BEMUS. 

Probably no question in connection with Bur- 
goyne's campaign has given rise to so much discussion 
as that concerning the spelling of the name of that old 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 343 

settler who kept a tavern on the river-road from 
Schuylerville to Albany, and from whom the Heights 
near him took their name. By Burgoyne's chief 
engineer, in his maps of the two actions (September 
19th and October 7th, 1777), and by different histo- 
rians the name has been spelled in as many ways 
as there have been writers on our Revolutionary 
history — Bemis, Bremis, Braemus, Behmus, Behmis, 
Bemese and Beemis being the most common. 

By a letter, however, which I received some years 
since from that distinguished antiquarian and local 
historian, Mr. B. B. Burt, of Oswego, N. Y„ I am 
finally enabled to settle this much-mooted point. 

Mr. Burt's Letter. 

" Oswego, April 22, 1881. 
" Mr. W. L. Stone. 

" Dear Sir : Rev. Samuel H. Adams, a gentleman 
and a scholar, spent a few days with me the last week, 
and I learned from him that he was a descendant of 
the Bemus from whom the Heights of Revolutionary 
fame were named ; and inasmuch as I knew that the 
name had been used and spelled in difterent ways, I 
asked him to note what he knew about it on the next 
page. I send you his statement. Truly yours, 

" B. B. Burt." 

Rev. Samuel H. Adams's Statement. 

" My grandmother and her brothers, who were the 
children of the Mr. Bemus from whom the Heights 
were named, always spelled their name Bemus, and she 
was quite disturbed that the error of Bemis should so 
commonly appear. 

" She married Daniel Crawford, Saratoga Springs, 



344: The Burgoyne Ballads. 

and was for many years the oldest person in Saratoga 
County. [Was this Crawford the one mentioned in 
Mr. Huling's * Reminiscences of Saratoga Fifty 
Years Ago } ' — W .L. S.] Her brother moved to Chau- 
tauqua County, and Bemus Point, on Chautauqua 
Lake, was named from him. 

" All his descendants in that county spell the name 
Bemus, and will on no account spell it otherwise. 
Another, Matthew Pendergrass j5*(?;?^2^j-, was a member 
of the New York Assembly from 1868 to 1872 inclu- 
sive. Samuel H. Adams. 

'April 18, 1881." 

To give, however, all the data on this much-mooted 
point, the Saratoga Sentinel, in reply to the foregoing, 
printed the following : 

" In our investigations we have found that Mr. 
Adam Snyder, of this village, now over seventy years 
old, lived with John Bemis, who died in this town in 
1829. Mr. Snyder spells the name just as we have 
given it, and says that is the proper way. He does 
not know the exact relationship of John Bemis of this 
town to the Stillwater family, but says that he thinks 
he was a nephew of the owner of the famous Heights. 
He knows he was a brother of Mrs. Daniel Crawford, 
whose name is mentioned above, and tells us that he 
remembers distinctly that Mr. Bemis 'purchased fifty 
acres of land on the south bounds of the village (being 
the Crawford Tavern, alluded to by Mr. Stone), about 
the year 1826, paying $1000 therefor. Mr. Crawford 
had become somewhat embarrassed by reason of giving 
surety for a man, and his brother-in-law, John Bemis, 
bought the place for him on that account. John 
Bemis died childless in 1829, as above noted. The 
different branches of the same family vary in spelling 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 345 

their name sometimes, and it may be the parties 
referred to by Messrs. Burt and Hall have done so, 
and now claim it to be the original. 

"Since writing the foregoing we have conversed with 
C. E. Durkee, Esq., on the subject. Mr. Durkee has 
a taste for genealogical studies and has many books on 
the subject, among them a history of Watertown, 
Mass., wherein it is stated that the Bemis who settled 
in this county emigrated from Watertown, and while 
the members of the family are said to have spelled 
their name variously, Bemis is given as the prevailing 
and most usually adopted way." 

In answer to this last, from the Saratoga Sentinel, 
I append the following, which, I think, conclusively 
settles the question. However, I give all the data on 
this much-vexed question, and our readers must judge 
for themselves : 

Some More Light on the Old Settler Bemus. 
To the Editor of the " Saratogian" 

Sir : Since sending you the communication in re- 
gard to the spelling of the name of Bemus, Rev. Mr. 
Adams — the grandson of Bemus — has written the 
following note to Mr. B. B. Burt, of Oswego, called 
forth by the publication of his letter to Mr. Burt, in 
the Saratogian of the 5th inst. I give herewith his 
letter. W. L. Stone. 

Jersey City Heights, May 12. 

Clifton Springs, N. Y., May 9. 

B.B. Burt, Oswego, N. Y. 

Dear Friend : . . . I regret that so little infor- 
mation of the old settler, Jotham Bemus, is in my 
possession. Beyond the facts that he was born about 



346 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

1738, married Tryphena Moore, was a fanner occu- 
pying the Heights (called after him), and kept for 
many years a tavern (the most popular for many years 
between Fort Edward and Albany) near the Heights; 
that he was in easy financial circumstances and was 
engaged extensively in buying cattle ; that he was 
stoutly built and energetic in all he did ; that he died 
in 1786, leaving four children, viz. : William, Jotham, 
John and Sally ; aside from this outline I know but 
little. 

I may be able to gather something more from my 
aunt, Mrs. Martha B. Hall, whose husband (formerly 
of Saratoga Springs), Ezra Hall, is the proprietor of 
Bemus Hotel, Evansville, Ind. Mr. Crawford was 
fifty years ago owner and proprietor of what was then 
known as " Highland Hall," which was a little out 
from Saratoga village, on the Dunning Street road 
south. 

William, the oldest son of this old settler, Jotham 
Bemus, was born at Bemus Heights in 1762; married 
Mary Pendergast, 1782; settled in Pittston, Rensse- 
laer County, and removed thence in 1802. 

My grandmother, Sally Bemus Crawford, was born 
at Bemus Heights in May, 1768, and removed from 
Saratoga Springs with Mr. and Mrs. Hall to Indiana 
in 1864. She has spent hours telling me of " Burgine" 
and his army, which she saw ; of the burning of her 
father's house by the British, and of the sufferings of 
the family for a time while they were wintering in a 
barn — Burgoyne having destroyed all their buildings 
and crops. Sincerely yours, 

S. H. Adams.* 

* In this letter of Mr. S. H. Adams he is hardly 
correct in one statement — at least, such is the infer- 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 347 

The Correct Orthography of the Great Battle 

Ground. 

In addition to the letters in the last Democrat upon 
this subject, we publish the following obituary notice 
in the Saratoga Sentinel of September 15th, 1829 : 

" Died, inthis town, on the eighth instant, Mr. John 
Bemus, in the sixty-sixth year of his age. Mr. B. was 
born on the farm comprising the celebrated Bemus' 
Heights, which was owned by his father, and from 
whose name it received its local designation. Though 
young, he was in the American service at the capture 
of Burgoyne, as a teamster, and continued to reside 
on the consecrated soil of his father until his removal 
to this place several years since." (The Ballston 
Democrat, Friday, May 13, 1881.) 

Bemus or Bemis. 

Last week we spoke of various discussions which 
we had read in the past forty years regarding the 

ence drawn from a letter to me under date of May 19th, 
1893, fro"^ Mr- Daniel H. Post, of Jamestown, N. Y., 
a great-great-great-grandson of Jotham Bemus. Mr. 
Post writes as follows: "Jotham Bemus had more 
than five children, viz. : Jotham, Tryphena, William, 
John, Sally, James and Nancy. Jotham, the son of 
Jotham first, was a soldier in the Revolution, as was 
also his brother William, who served as a private in 
Colonel Van Vecton's Regiment, Woodworth's Com- 
pany. William removed from Pittston, N. Y., in 
1805, to Chautauqua County, N. Y., and, in 1806, 
settled at what is now known as Bemus Point." 



34:8 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

methods of spelling the name of the man from whom 
one of the great revolutionary battlefields took its 
principal name, and gave evidence why we considered 
Bemis the more authentic orthography than Bemus. 
Our authorities then were verbal. Now we have the 
following extract from an obituary notice published in 
the Saratoga Sentinel of September 15th, 1829, as 
evidence to the contrary spelling : 

" Died, in this town, on the eighth instant, Mr. John 
Bemus, in the sixty-sixth year of his age. Mr. B. was 
born on the farm comprising the celebrated Bemus' 
Heights, which was owned by his father, and from 
whose name it received its local designation. Though 
young, he was in the American service at the capture 
of Burgoyne, as a teamster, and continued to reside 
on the consecrated soil of his father until his removal 
to this place several years since." 

This would seem to be a settler against any bare 
recollection, such as we gave last week, but we have 
still further evidence on the same side. In the surro- 
gate's office we find the record of the will of this John 
Bemus, drawn probably by Judiah Ellsworth, who, 
together with Samuel Chapman and John H. Steel (all 
of them leading citizens of this town), sign the same 
as witnesses, and the name is spelled Bemus in the 
body of the will and also in what purports to be the 
signature. But to show how officials vary, we will say 
that we found the name spelled Bemis in the index of 
the will, apparently made a few years since. 

Our conclusion is then that Bemus was the orthog- 
raphy preferred by those of the name who resided here- 
abouts, and we shall use it hereafter, while we have no 
doubt that the spelling preferred by the old settlers of 
Watertown, Mass., from whence the family emigrated, 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 349 

was Bemis, as given in the history of Watertown 
referred to last week. 

We may add that from the will of John Bemus he 
would appear to have been quite a well-to-do citizen. 
He gave one half his property to his sister, Sally 
Crawford, dividing the balance between Nancy Beck- 
with, Nabby Clements, and Lucratia Wilcox ; Benja- 
min Crawford, Peter Fort, and Joshua Finch were the 
executors of the will. 

Since the foregoing was in type we have been 
studying the almanacs. We find by the Albany 
Evening Journal Almanac that Solomon K. Bem^/i" 
represents Chenango County in the Assembly. The 
Albany Argus Almanac says that Solomon K. Bemm 
is the representative of that county, also that he has 
been postmaster of the town of Pitcher. The Tribune 
Almanac gives the name as Solomon K. Bemzi-. The 
red book, giving the list of postmasters, spells the 
name Bemz>^, as does the Argus Almanac, and the 
official postal guide spells it Bemz>. If variety is the 
spice of life, certainly Solomon K. Vi^mis-us-iss-is 
gives us plenty in the spelling of his name. (The 
Saratoga Sentinel, Thursday, May 19th, 1881.) 



APPENDIX XL 



AUSTIN W. HOLDEN, M.D. 

By James H. Holden. 

Austin Wells Holden, A.M., M.D., historian, pa- 
triot and litterateur, was born in the town of White Creek, 
Washington County, N. Y., May i6th, 18 19. His 
early education was acquired at the St. Lawrence 



350 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

Academy, Potsdam, N. Y. In 1836 his father removed 
to Glens Fall, N. Y., where the subject of this sketch 
began the study of law with the Honorable William 
Hay, a noted lawyer and writer of that day. Obliged, 
for pecuniary reasons, to relinouish this profession, he 
entered his father's cabinet-shop, where he remained 
until his twenty-second year. During this time he 
studied diligently the works of ancient and modern 
writers, and about 1841 began the study of medicine. 
A little later he entered the Albany Medical College, 
from which he graduated with distinction in 1848, and 
opened his office at VVarrensburg, the central town 
of Warren County, N. Y. In 185 1, he was married 
to Elizabeth Buell, of Glens Falls, daughter of the 
Honorable Horatio Buell, at one time judge of 
Warren County; sister of the late James Buell, Presi- 
dent of the Importers and Traders Bank of New York 
City, and niece of the late Sarah Josepha (Buell) 
Hale, for many years editor of Godeys Lady s Book. 
Three children resulted from this union, only one of 
whom, James A. Holden, of Glens Falls, now sur- 
vives. In 1852 Dr. Holden removed with his family 
to ^^Glens Falls, where he located in practice. Five 
years later, after thorough investigation, he adopted 
the Homoeopathic system of medicine, and became one 
of the most noted and successful practitioners of that 
school in Northern New York. In 1 861, on the 
fall of Fort Sumter, Dr. Holden was the first to offer 
his services to the State, and raised the first company of 
men in Warren County. This company, with him as 
its captain, v/as attached to the famous Twenty-second 
Regiment, part of the noted " Iron Brigade." After 
serving as an officer a short time, Dr. Holden, at the 
request of officers and men, was transferred, as first 
assistant surgeon, to the medical staff of the regiment, 



The Burgoyne Ballads. 351 

where his services were most needed, and where he 
did brave and excellent work. After he was mustered 
out in 1863, he returned as an acting assistant surgeon 
to the United States Army, serving in various promi- 
nent hospitals till Lee's surrender. For meritorious 
service he received a commission as brevet major 
from Governor Fenton. Returning home, he resumed 
the practice of his profession, in which he was most 
successful. He was one of the most prominent mem- 
bers of the State Homoeopathic Medical Society, hold- 
ing during the course of his membership the offices of 
censor, vice-president, president and necrologist. In 
1879 he was recommended for and received the hon- 
orary degree of M.D. from the Regents of the Uni- 
versity. During the years 1877-78 he was chief of 
staif of the Ward's Island Homoeopathic Hospital at 
New York, serving acceptably till failing health com- 
pelled him to resign. He was a life-long Democrat, 
and in 1874 was elected to the Assembly from Warren 
County, which is strongly Republican in sentiment. 
He was one of the first members of Queensbury's 
board of education, formed in 1882, and served for six 
years. Up to January, 1891, he was a member and 
president of the local board of United States Pension 
Examiners. In 1877 he received as an honorarium the 
degree of A.M. from Union College. Both he and 
his wife were noted for their liberality and benevo- 
lence, their zeal and efficiency in the service of their 
Lord and Master. For forty years much of Dr. Hol- 
den's time was devoted to literary pursuits. He was a 
voluminous contributor to the public press, a poet of 
no small degree of excellence, while his researches 
and labors in the domain of local history have been 
fruitful in rescuing from oblivion many detached facts 
and incidents of the past, that in another generation 



352 The Burgoyne Ballads. 

would have been irremediably lost. His chief and 
lasting monument, which will bear his name down to 
posterity, is a work entitled " A History of Queens- 
bury, N. Y.," which covers an important era and sec- 
tion of country in relation to American history. In 
recognition of his literary abilities, he received, in 
addition to the honorary degree of Master of Arts 
already mentioned, appointments as corresponding 
member of the Oneida County, the New York, Wis- 
consin and Rhode Island Historical societies, and the 
New York and New England Genealogical and 
Biographical societies. His most recent historical 
work was the " History of Jane McCrea," which ap- 
peared in the local press, and which he was getting in 
readiness to publish in book-form. He left a valuable 
collection of mss. and historical miscellany, which 
will prove treasure-trove to some future historian. In 
January, 1891, Dr. Holden's wife died suddenly. For 
some months the doctor had been in feeble health. 
He sank under the additional blow, till death relieved 
him of the cares and troubles of this life. He fell 
asleep on July 19th, 1891, and his funeral was largely 
attended by the various societies to which he belonged, 
the services being under Masonic auspices. A local 
paper writes his epitaph as follows : " A patriot and 
philanthropist was laid at rest yesterday, when the 
remains of Dr. A. W. Holden were consigned to 
mother earth. He was an extensive writer and the 
author of valuable local histories. He was a kind- 
hearted, genial gentleman and a practical Christian 
always. Peace to his ashes." 



BURGOYNE INDEX. 



Acland, Lady Harriet, 

130, 186, 271, 303. 
Adams, John, 89. 
Alexander, James, 9. 
Allen, Ethan, 220. 
Allen, Parson Thomas, 

225, 227. 
Allen, Joseph, 238. 
Allen's History, quoted, 

256. 
Anthony, Walter, 42, 
Arnold, Gen., 57, S^, 88, 

132. 
Auringer, Rev. O. C, 

Sketch of, 134. 
Ayers, Robert, 190. 

Ballads and Poems : 

Burgoyne's Proclamation, 

7. 
The Progress of Sir Jack 

Brag, 27. 
Burgoyne's Defeat, 29. 
The Fate of John Bur- 

goyne, 32. 
The Capture at Saratoga, 

36. 



Burgoyne's Advance and 

Fall, 3S. 
St. Clair's Retreat and 
Burgoyne's Defeat, 41. 
The Fall of Burgoyne, 48. 
An Answer for the Mes- 
sengers of the Nation, 
49. 
The First Chapter of the 
Lamentations of Gen 
eral Burgoyne, 52. 
A Dialogue between Col. 
Paine and Miss Clo- 
rinda Fairchild, 60. 
A Short Review of Bur- 
goyne's Expedition, 62. 
Four Burgoyne Epigrams, 

66. 
The Halcyon Days of 

Old England, 69. 
Two Burgoyne Letters, 

71. 
An Old Verse, y;^. 
Epitaph, 74. 
Merz Kater, y^. 
To the Relics of my Brit- 
ish Grenadier, 75. 



354 



JBurgoyne Index. 



An 



King 



Burgoyne's Defeat, 

Ancient Ditty, 80. 
The North Campaign, 

86. 
The Carpet Knight, 93 
The Church and 

Club, 97. 
Satirical Verses in Honor 

of Sir John Burgoyne, 

99- 
Song of a Wagoner m 

Gates's Army, 105. 
The Restored Captain, 

106. 
The Burial of Gen. Fraser, 

114. 
The Burial of Gen. Fra- 
ser, No. 2, 118. 
The Burial of Gen. Fra- 
ser, No. 3, 119- 

The Burial of Gen. Fra- 
ser, No. 4, 124. 

The Episode of 
McCrea, 134. 

Jane McCrea, 176. 

Jane McCrea, 186. 

Reflections at the Grave 
of Jane McCrea, 194. 

Jane McCrea, 195. 

The Tragical Death of 
Miss Jane McCrea, 201. 

lane McCrea, 203. 

Lines on Jane McCrea, 
205. 

Oriskany, 208. 



Jane 



Die Schlacht von Oris- 
kany, 210. 
Psean to Oriskany, 212. 
Ode on the Battle of 

Bennington, 215. 
The Battle of Bennington, 

218. 
The Battle of Bennmg- 

ton, 219. 
Ode on the Veterans of 
the Battle of Benning- 
ton, 224. 
Parson Allen's Ride, 225. 
Hymn on the Battle of 

Bennington, 228. 
The Battle of Benning- 
ton, 229. 
Song about Bennington, 

233. 
A Story of Bemus Heights, 

2 34- 
Poem on the occasion 

of Battle of Bemus 
Heights, 236. 
Poem on Saratoga, by 

Alfred B. Street, 243. 
The Surrender of Bur- 
goyne, 254. 
The Field of the Ground- 
ed Arms, Saratoga, 
264. 
Saratoga, 268. 
The Star-Spangled Ban- 
ner by Butler, 273. 
Ballston Spa., 190. 



Burgoyne Index. 



355 



Balcarras, Lord, Sketch 

of. 37. 
Bancroft, George, 236. 
Barlow, Joel, Sketch of, 

203. 
Barton, William, 26. 
Battenkill, 63. 
Bauman, Col. Sebastian, 

lor. 
Bedlow, Hon. Henry, 134. 
Belden, B. L., 6; Sketch 

of, lOI. 
Bemus Heights, Battle 

of, 3. 241. 
Bemus, The Correct 

SpelHng, 342. 
Bennington, 29, 56, 215, 

216, 224, 230, 234. 
Bess, Queen, 227. 
Bliss, Charles M., 226. 
Boies, Lura A., Sketch 

of, 1 19, 176. 
Booth Bros., 12. 
Botta, Anna C, 224. 
Bouquet River, 44. 
Boyd, Lieut. Thos., 293. 
Brown, Col. John, 36. 
Brunswickers, 57. 
Bruce, Wallace, Sketch of, 

225. 
Brooks, Col., Sketch of, 89. 
Brudenell, Parson, 112. 
Bryant, William C. , Sketch 

of, 218. 
Bull Run, 255. 



Bunker Hill, 2, 23, 92, 206. 
Burgoyne, Gen., Sketch 

of, I, 16, 21. 
Burgoyne, Sir John, 7. 
Butler, B. C, 273. 
Butler, Col. Wm., 293. 
Butler, Prof J. D., 66. 
Canning, E. W. B., 75, 

234- 
Carey, Henry, 4. 

Carlton, Gen., 2,37, 68, 69. 
Carnarvon, Earl of, r86. 
Case, Rev. W., 41. 
Catamount Tavern, 225. 
Caulfield, Miss Susan, 6. 
Champlain, Lake, 2,34,59. 
Chapin, Rev. E. H., 215. 
Cilley, Col., 234. 
Clinton, Sir Henry, 2, 22, 

256. 
Cobble Hill, 23. 
Cochran, Deacon Isaac,67. 
Coldstream Guards, i. 
Collins, Isaac, 67. 
Columbiad, a Poem, 204. 
Commercial Advertiser^ 

118. 
Copwell, Rev., 236. 
Cook, Col. Thaddeus, 84. 
Cook, Mrs. Rachel A., 190. 
Cook, Ransom, 190. 
Cooper, James Fenimore, 

252. 
Council of Safety, 220, 

252. 



356 



JBurgoyne Index. 



Cummings, Rev. Hooper, 

132. 
Craig, Capt, 69. 
Crandall, Chas., 268. 
Crown Point, 2. 

Davidson Sisters, 120. 

Dearborn, Gen., "j"]. 

De Peyster, Gen., 5 7, 208, 

254. 263. 
Derby, Earl of, i. 
Dieskau, Gen., 'j']. 
Dinsmore, Robert, 62. 
Disney, A., 68. 
Drake, J. R, 264. 
Duluth,a Half Breed, 130. 
Dwight, Pres., 9, 105. 
Dwight, Theodore, 124. 

Edwards, Ed., 66. 
Evarts, Hon.Wm. M., 227. 

Evening Post, N.Y., 218, 
264. 

Fay, Dr. J., 220. 

Fay, Stephen, 220. 

Fellows, Gen., 253. 

Fitzgerald, Lord, 224. 

Fish Creek, 28. 

Fort Anne, 2, 261. 

Fort Edward, 2, 29, 59, 

120, 130, 189, 256. 
Fort Edward Institute, 

196. 
Fort Independence, 16. 



Fort Hardy, 253, 256. 

Fort Miller, 63. 

Fort Plain, 196. 

Fort Ticonderoga, 2, 34, 

43> 53. 255- 
Fort WiUiam Henry, 255. 

Eraser, Gen., 18, 38, 63, 

III. 
Freeman's Farm, Battle 

of, 257. 
Freneau, Philip, 38. 

Gaine, Hugh, 67. 

Gates, Gen., 3, 18, 29, 53, 

88, 125, 256, 291. 
George III., 4, 23. 
George IV., 55. 
George, Lake, 56, 75,252. 
Germaine, Lord George, 

113- 
Glens Falls, N. Y., 134. 

Golden Hill, Battle of, 67. 

Gordon, Rev. Wm., 262. 

Great Barrington, 218. 

Greeley, Horace, 215. 

Griswold, Rev. R., 27. 

Hale, Mrs. Sarah J., 205. 
Halifax, 16. 

Halleck, Fitz-Greene, 264. 
Hamilton, Alex., 6, 38. 
Hastings, Warren, 6. 
Hay, Hon. Wm., 120. 
Hayes, Pres. R. B., 229. 
Herbert, Wm., 186. 



Burgoyne Index. 



357 



Herkimer, Gen., 36, 256. 
Hilmer, Chas. D., 264. 
Holden, Dr.. Sketch of, 

349- 
Holden, James H., 349. 
Hoosic Falls, 230. 
Horicon (Lake George), 

252. 
Hoyt, Gen. R, 302. 

Jefferson, Thos., 39. 
Jennings, Rev., 216. 
Johnson, Sir William, 28, 

89, 108. 
Jones, David, 128, 190. 
Jordan, J. W., 75. 

King, Rev. Jos. E., 195. 
Knox, Gen., 18. 
Kosciusko, Gen., 132. 

Lamb, Col. Anthony, 

lOI. 

Lebanon, 74. 

Lee, Gen. Chas., 8, 186. 

Le Loup, a Wyandotte 

Chief, 130, 190. 
Lexington, Battle of, 67. 
Liancourt, Duke de, 258. 
Liberty Boys, 67. 
Lincoln, Gen., 93. 
Lincoln, Pres., 206. 
Livingston, Gen., 8. 
Locke, Hon. S. D., 230. 
Lossing, B. J., 26, 56. 



Maccaroni Club, 20. 
Markham, J. C, 51, 71. 
Marvin, James M., 57. 
McCrea, Jane 128, 204, 

206. 
McCrea, John, 128. 
McCrea, Rev., M., 202. 
McNeil, Mrs., 130. 
Meal Market, 67. 
Mohawk River, 2. 
Montgomery, Gen., 25, 

128. 
Montreal, 25. 
Morgan, Gen., 2, 18, 112, 

293- 
Moses Kill, 132. 
Mount Defiance, %'], 
Munsell, Joel, 220. 
Murphy, " Tim," 19, 290. 

Newbury, Jeremiah, 268. 
New Amsterdam, 257. 
Nowell, Garrett, 67. 

Oriskany, Battle of, 255, 
261. 

Page, Ehzabeth, 232. 
Paterson, 'j'j. 
Peck, Rev. J. T., 195. 
Phillips, Gen., 34. 
Pittsfield, 220. 
Poor, Gen., 'j']. 
Posey, Maj., 293. 
Post, Daniel H., 347. 



358 



Burgoyne Index. 



Prescott, Gen., 25. 
Prior, Matthew, 23. 
Prison Ship, 38. 
Poultney Academy, 195. 
Pullman, George M., 57. 
Putnam, Gen., 16. 

Quaker Springs, N. Y., 
64. 

Raleigh, Sir Walter, 23. 
Ramsey, quoted, 56. 
Rawdon, Lord, 15. 
Riedesel, Mrs. Gen., 6, 

24, 130. 186. 
Rivington, James, 96. 
Rodman, Rev. Thomas 

P., 229. 
Rogers, Gen. Horatio, 

7. 113- 

Sandy Hill, N. Y., 120, 

189. 
Saratoga Lake, 28. 
Saratoga Map, 57, 114, 

231. 
Saratoga Monument, 12, 

104, 244. 
Schuyler, Gen. Philip, 29, 

56, 88, 255, 258. 
Schuyler Mills, 63. 
Schuylersville, N. Y., 128. 
Shay, Dan, 78. 
Skene, PhiHp, 29, 55, 72. 



Skenesborough (White- 
hall, N. Y.), 16, 56,129. 

Smith, William, q. 

Society Library, N. Y., 9. 

Stanley, Lady, i. 

Stansbury, 93. 

Stark, Gen., 217, 227, 228, 
241. 

Stark, Molly, 217, 222, 
226. 

St. Clair, Gen., 34, 43> ^7, 
88. 

Steadman, quoted, 84. 

Steuben, Gen., 92. 

Stevens, Col., 88. 

St. Leger, Gen., 89, 256. 

Stockbridge Indians, 75. 

Stone, Mrs. Charles, 133. 

Stone's " Orderly Book of 
Sir John Johnson," 257. 

Street, Albert B., 243. 

Strong, Capt. John, 220. 

Strong, Catherine, 220. 

Sugar Loaf Hill, 43. 

Taylor, Rev. H. B., 196. 
Three Rivers, t,J. 
Trumbull, J., 15, 34, 43> 

87. 

Union Cemetery, Sandy 

Hill, N. Y., 120. 
Union College, 236. 

Van Doren, Rev. D., 254. 



Burgoyne Index. 



359 



Van Vecton, Col., 347. 

Washington, Gen., 16, 

29, 39- 
Walloomsack, 231. 

Waldenburg, J. F., 219. 

Walworth, Mrs. E. H., 57. 

Walpole, Horace, 68, 69. 

Walpole, Robert, 68. 

Warren, Gen., 219. 



Wayne, Gen., ^^. 
Williams, Roger, 268. 
Williams, Col. E., 75. 
Williams, Rev. S., 65. 
Wilkes, John, 23. 
Wilson, Gen. Jas. G., 264. 



Yankee Doodle, Origin 
of, 20, 60. 



ERRATA. 



Page 37, 5th line from bottom, for " Thompson," 
read Thomas. 

Page 96, 3d line from .bottom, for " mind," read 
wind. 

Page 102, last line, for " is" read are. 

Page 113, 2d line from bottom, for" Ropes," read 
Rogers. 

Page 114,3d line from top, for "Lilliman," read 
Silliman. 

Page 188, last line, for " Appendix No. III.," read 
Appendix No. X. 

Page 258, 7th line from bottom, for "contemplat- 
ed," read present. 

Page 335, 7th line from top, for " mauvis," read 
Mauris. 

Page 349, 7th line from top, for " Lucratia," read 
Lucretia. 



1212 79 




v^ 







